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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632050">Glorious Are The Wretched</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvenMadderHatter/pseuds/EvenMadderHatter'>EvenMadderHatter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blood and Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Found Family, GeorgeNotFound-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secrets, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, oh boy do they pine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:14:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>47,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvenMadderHatter/pseuds/EvenMadderHatter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fine." His chair groaned as he stood, drawing himself up to his full height despite the ache in his ribs. "But I have conditions."</p><p>"Do you really think you're in a position to bargain?"</p><p>"Yes," George spoke with finality.</p><p>Techno sighed low in his throat. "Go on then."</p><p>"I get to kill him."</p><p>The silence was deafening. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The King." Black venom dripped from his tongue and his nails dug into his shaking palms. Bitterness rose in George's throat as he spat, "He stole everything from me. He took my life from me. And I want to be the one to return the favor."</p><p> </p><p>... </p><p>Orphaned at a young age due to his relations with magic and thrown into the King's coal mines, George has wanted nothing more than to get his revenge on the man who stole everything from him. When a rebel group hears of his story, and more importantly, the power he holds, it's not long before he's thrown into a plan far too large to comprehend. </p><p>When he starts to find what he's been missing his whole life in the form of a group of ragtag dissenters and one masked warrior, it's far too easy to forget- the King is never far behind.  </p><p> </p><p>Alternatively, enemies to lovers DNF go brrrrr.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>443</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_l_o_v_e/gifts">C_l_o_v_e</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: Violence, mentions of blood, indentured servitude/slavery<br/>Be mindful of these themes - if you are someone who is susceptible/easily triggered by descriptions of the above, please be mindful when reading.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Listen close, George, this is important." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soft palms cupped small hands, guiding them to the full curve of a bottle. The glass was warm beneath his fingertips, sending sparks of heat running down his back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"The story goes like this. Once there was a woman, who had lived an earnest life, filled with good. Plants blossomed under her green touch, birds soared with the weight of her voice to carry them high, and joy sprung wherever her smile went. This woman had a child, a child who fell terribly ill. She was beside herself with grief, knowing that her son would not make it to see the sunrise the next day. Determined to give him any chance of survival, she came up with a medicinal brew. Upon giving it to her son, his cheeks bloomed with roses, his voice rose from the smoke. It was said to be blessed by the gods, but we know the truth, don't we?" He scrunched his face as fingers tweaked his nose softly. "The real </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>truth lies in our blood."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Into the crystalline water went hunks of shining melon, blooming a bright scarlet. Flakes of gold swirled around the quickly darkening mixture, flashing by as careful fingers shook the bottle by its neck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Healing, George." The bottle was placed into his hands, instantly clasped tight in tiny fingers. "Now you know how to make it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A grin cracked his face as he peered into the glittering crimson potion, sparkling golden flecks winking at him through the barrier of glass. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Healing… </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>George's fingers trembled, blistered and bent by the splintering wooden handle of his pickaxe. Digging the tender flesh of his fingers into the wall before him, he tore out a hunk of smoky black ore, dropping it into his pack with a dull thud. He swung his pickaxe into the wall, grimacing as his bones shook at the impact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rattling of lungs joined the hiss of steel chains as the broken bodies of slaves worked around him. The flickering iron lanterns suspended above lit the faces of the half-dead. Ravenous pickaxes dug into the tunnel walls, smashing the stone into fractures that dug into soot-stained skin, scratching pale lines against their marred flesh. If hell existed in the overworld, this was it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every so often, the guards barked harsh orders, cracking their leather whips against the gravel-littered ground. Sometimes, the lash of their rage would carve rivers of red down the backs of slow workers. When the wretched cries of the tormented broke the tandem of work, no one uttered a word. Instead, they swallowed their screams into silence, driving their rage into the dull end of their pick.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one survived the Imperial Mines, not even the skilled. Those born with magic in their blood were beaten and whipped until their skin no longer resembled the smooth facets of quartz, breaking their spirit and melting their resolve until mere husks remained. Those born without were destined to die in the tunnel systems - a fitful death for those that were thieves, criminals, rebels of the King, and dissenters of the throne. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On average, George suspected pure-blood humans would last a year at most before succumbing to the frozen Winter nights or the cruelty of the Royal Guards. Or worse yet, the creatures that roamed the mines at night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George had lived in the mines for five years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ground beneath his bare feet rumbled, sending inky coal dust exploding through the air as exposed chunks were knocked to the ground. George steadied himself against the rocky cavern. He stared down blankly at the ground, wondering which unfortunate fellow had stumbled too far past the torch-lit tunnels. Would they come back? If the force of the blast hadn't sent walls of gravel collapsing around them, then maybe. The hope was futile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They'd be the third to die to a creeper today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden ringing sounded out through the mines, reaching the eager ear of every worn and weary being. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Return to your cells at once. The workday has ended. Return to your cells at once." The droning announcement echoed, drowning out the slump of knotted shoulders and the shuddering sighs of the chained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The endless call of the guards looped over and over in George's weary head as he stumbled through the crowds of people, relenting his pickaxe to the nearest guard. The sack of coal was dumped with the others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though his bones shook on the frozen stone ground, the bite of Winter had begun to creep away. In a matter of weeks, the gentle winds of Spring would filter into the mines and after that, the lingering heat of the sun blazing the ground above. Sometimes, George let himself wonder what it looked like on the surface. Most of the time he didn't. It hurt to think about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Give it here, filthy mage." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pick he held was wrenched from his blistered hands and George hissed, cradling his stinging fingers to his chest as the guard flung the pick onto a discarded pile. Anger bubbled on his tongue - molten lava threatening to overflow from twisted lips. The guards ran the mines like a prison. The numbers that died to their whips and swords made George sick to his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard's shadowed face loomed over him, his eyes hidden by the curve of his helmet. The base of his neck was scarred by a marring of burnt flesh, imprinted with the brand of the King - a crown of twisting, thorny vines. George's nose wrinkled at the foul sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A strong grip latched onto his forearm, pulling him back from the guard and forcing his scathing words down his throat. The crowd swallowed them, pushing him up the carved stone stairways up to the cell-levels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"George, I need your help."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Captain," He remarked, confusion drawing his brows down. Then, he stared at the man cooly, echoes of a conversation once spoken playing in his ear. “I was under the impression you didn't talk to criminals."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan, better known by the other workers as the "Captain" for his experience and age, rarely paid George visits after the incident. A man of size and strength, his time in the mines translated over his hardened skin. With raking scars etched across his shoulders and arms, it was clear that even the Captain hadn't escaped the cruelty of the mines. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Judging by the haunted look in his darkened eyes, George knew whatever had brought the fellow slave to him had to be bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they wound around the corner, Jordan spoke low and quick, funneling information directly into his ear. "Little boy on level two. He's sick, he's not going to make it past the morning. His father tried everything but…" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't good enough."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan shook his head, his eyes closing for a prolonged moment. "Nothing ever is here. Please, George. You know I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't urgent."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he wouldn't. Jordan hadn't spoken to him in five months. Not since the guards brought George down to level eight, the last level suspended above the abyss of the coal mines. The last warning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Level eight was the silent floor, the only level in the mines with no hushed whispering or broken singing. The false comfort of people was absent - even the guards tended to stay away from the desolate level.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he wanted to go to the upper levels, he could have easily snuck out. The iron locks on the cell doors had long since rusted and as he had suspected, they had broken with one kick. Had he wanted to, he could have ventured up the mineshafts to level three to talk to the Captain, or perhaps dipped into the storage units to rifle through their chests. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was very little reason why George stayed on level eight alone. But it was reason enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"George," Jordan pressed, his voice heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking down at his scarred hands, he wondered if it was worth it. The last time he'd been caught by the guards- the mere thought of the beating had him looking away, his back prickling with phantom pains. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of the young boy took the edge off the memory, and against his better judgment, he gave Jordan a nod, locking eyes with the other. "I'll be there in four hours. You know what to bring."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan nodded, the tension rushing out of his shoulders as he clapped his hand on George's neck. "Thank you, George."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was gone in seconds, just another tortured blur amongst the masses of workers trudging back to their cells.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George sighed, tucking his trembling fingers into the tattered pockets of his pants. "Of course, Captain."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>George would never get used to the sounds of misery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he slipped through the lantern-lit path, the grating voices pleading, begging, crying for mercy around him grew. The upper levels were filled to the brim with slaves, some cells holding up to ten of the forsaken. The conditions were unspeakable, the company meant little to most. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The occasional trudge of boots on the stone floor ushered in a wave of silence, but it never remained quiet for long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"George." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan waved him close, his features crumpled into something that had George hurrying down the hall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Did you bring the stuff?" He whispered as they ducked into a cell, pulling the iron bars back. Jordan gave a firm nod. Pushing past the bodies crowding the cell, Jordan led George to the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There, the bent form of a man on the ground greeted them. In his arms was a small boy, his eyes glazed with fever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan pulled out materials from his pockets as George set to work, giving the boy's father a grim nod as he pressed a hand against the boy's cheek. His face burnt like the lantern flames. His dazed blue eyes looked up at George and he whimpered a frail little sound.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George hushed the boy, running a hand through his matted locks. "You're going to be alright, you hear me?" The boy made no more noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan placed a melon in George's free hand. It was a shrunken, discolored lump, spotted with black and blue. Cracking it open on the ground, George wrinkled his nose at the sour-smelling flesh of the fruit. It would have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Captain, give me the gold."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jordan poured a pile of golden nuggets into George's open palm. The rough pieces of metal shone faintly under the sheen of dirt, promising. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Will it be enough?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyeing the pile, George clicked his tongue. "Barely."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From his pocket, he drew a leather flask. Glass bottles worked better, but no such luxuries existed miles beneath the surface. It sloshed around in his hands with murky water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tearing his fingers through the flesh of the melon, he dropped the pieces in. The flask twirled in his hold as he swirled the mixture together, his hand practiced. As the sickly sweet smell of melon hit his nose, he could picture the blood-red mixture inside. It usually smelled good- sweet and fresh like Summer. It didn’t matter anyway, the gold ruined the scent. Rubbing off the dirt as best he could, George dropped the nuggets in one by one. It was too dark to see inside the flask. If he could examine the brew, he wondered whether the potion would hold a candle to his mother's. It was a stupid thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spilled a drop of the potion onto his hand carefully, examining the glittering liquid. The bead of crimson trailed down his hand to his wrist, leaving a line of glistening red.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a perfect mimic, to no one's surprise. Healing was a potion George had mastered from his early ages. And with the practice he got from living in the mines, his hands only got faster over the years. However rehearsed he was, he knew the strength of the potion would never reach his mother’s capabilities - not while he wasted away under the earth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You need to leave. The guards just finished their rounds here. They will make it round to level eight sooner than we thought." Though he concealed it well, Jordan's rigid posture gave him away. Time was running out, they both knew it, and the consequences of being caught were unspeakable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George instructed Jordan to tip the boy's head back as he poured the pinkish-red liquid down his throat. The healing potion left flecks of gold on the boy's blue lips, which George quickly wiped away. The flakes crumbled under his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching magic work never got old. George revered in the way his potions worked, the effects instantaneous and just as beautiful as the potions themselves. Sunken cheeks bloomed apple-red, giving the boy's face a youthful glow. His lips grew similarly flushed as his eyes shone with newfound clarity. His lips were pinched though, a divot forming between his brows. No process of healing came without the pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allowing himself a moment to breathe, George cupped the boy's cheek. He still burnt as hot as a torch flame, but if the potion worked as he knew it would, his fever would dwindle by early morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his father, George spoke quickly. "Give him water and as much sleep as he can get. Keep him out of the guards' sight as usual and if there are any changes to his condition tell the Captain."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man's eyes were glazed over with tears and his hands shook from where they lay tangled in his son's hair. He wasn't listening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"George-" Jordan hissed, already standing by the iron bars of the cell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand shot out, latching onto the father's wrist. The man's eyes snapped to his, wide with fear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This was the last of the melon I had, you hear me? He doesn't get a second chance." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man nodded firmly and George stood, tucking his flask back into his pocket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A frail hand caught his in a trembling grip and George whirled around, his heart jolting against his ribs. Two fragile orbs of blue latched onto his eyes, swimming with delirium. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thank you." The boy's lips twitched into a smile before his eyes slid shut and silence swallowed the cellblock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George swallowed the thickness in his throat, giving Jordan a sharp nod before he was slipping out of the cell, a wisp of a figure melting into the shadows. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>George woke to the sound of the iron bars clattering to one side. Booted feet swung towards his crumpled form as he scrambled to sit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was early in the morning, the dawn's blithering cold leaching into the cell floor, numbing his fingers and toes. The guards never visited this early. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look here boys, see who's awake."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard strode forwards, crossing his arms as he looked down with loathing at George's huddled figure. He stood against the bars, too close for comfort. Too angry.  The mass of scarring on his neck glared at George, red and raised in that terrible crown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stand up."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His joints ached and his bones popped audibly as he dragged himself up, nails digging into the ridges of the wall for support. Nausea struck him hard, disorienting him until he was swaying precariously on his feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When was the last time he had been fed? He couldn't recall. The guards often neglected to bring him meals given he was on the lowest level, and in the windowless prison cell, it was hard to keep track of time. Judging by the dull pang in his stomach and the bout of lightheadedness that struck him, it had been a while. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get over here!" The guard knocked a hand against the bars and George grimaced at the shriek of the iron. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he trudged forward on dead limbs, pain shooting through his arms as he tucked them into his sides. Cold brown eyes tracked the dusty floor until steel-capped leather boots came into view, scratched and worn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good little mage." The guard hissed, and murmured agreements filtered in from behind him. There was a group of them, huddled behind the bars. He could feel their beady eyes fixated on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand shot out, pulling him forward by the tattered filth of his shirt. He stumbled forward, caught off guard. Blunt fingernails dug into the paper-white skin of his neck, forcing his eyes up to meet the guard's glinting gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sharp smell hung bitter and pungent around them, souring the air. The guards had been drinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Weak little witch-blood, isn't he?" The guard before him was a large man, built wide and tall with dark features. He may have been handsome if not for the crooked length of his nose and the cruel twist of his lips curling high beneath manic eyes. The emblem of the King was burnt into the flesh of his neck, creeping down his stubbled skin to the arch of his collar bone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The branding of soldiers was seen as a privilege to those in the ranks of the King's men. Commanding officers, captains, war heroes, traitors of the people, <em>liars - </em>those were the select few to receive the iron print of the King. A sacred mark, forever burnt into skin, to be revered and celebrated by all those innocent and loyal to the King. What a joke. It was a warning. A reminder. The branded served the King and only the King. They were his cattle, lead to be slaughtered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just like you.” George followed the gruesome knuckles pulled right over the man’s fist up to his scowl. “I’m human.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You’re an abomination.” The words stung, as they always did. “The King must be a fool to think a creature like you would prove to have any worth. We're better off slitting your throat and using you as hunting meat."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George snorted, spitting a harsh bark of laughter back before he could stop himself. "I'm worth more than you could ever be."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh really now?" The hand on his neck squeezed tighter and a torn gasp slipped from George's lips. The guard smiled and sunk his nails into the soft flesh. "Says the prisoner on level eight. Watch your tongue. You're one mistake away from death, one crime away from hell."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why are you here then? I must be of some importance if I get a private visit."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm glad you asked, half-breed. We've gotten some reports of someone sneaking around the higher levels."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh?" George's heart thundered in his chest, but he held a stony gaze as he examined the guard. "How interesting. How does that relate to me?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We had our suspicions of the perpetrator - who would be dumb enough to risk an escape? Oh, wait…" His tone was heavy and hid a sickening smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thick memories obscured George's vision for a fleeting moment, brought back by the guardsman's words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There's soot on his cheeks, lines painted down his face by burning tears. His hands are shaking, blisters crying against the grating leather handle of his pickaxe. The acrid smog around him is burning his nose, peeling the skin off his trembling fingers, consuming him in a roiling emerald sea. Warmth is spattered across his face, painting everything a horrible red.      </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Now the question was, how did you manage to get out of your cell?" The guard spoke loud in his crowing tone, his face bobbing into view out of a cloud of green. He stared down the bridge of his crooked nose at George. "Imagine our surprise when we came down for a visit only to see your lock was broken."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Terrible silence followed. George's voice was stolen by the panic coursing through his veins, lighting his body on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard's smile was chilling. His breath was warm against George's cheek, the first tingle of heat he had felt in months. It repulsed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get down on the ground."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Listen, I- I know I-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get down</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" He thundered and George's hands shot up to guard his face. The man's eyes flicked down at his fists and he shoved George back by his neck. His hand swung to his side, gripping the wound leather handle of his whip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What do you think you're doing, boy?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shit. He was pissed. The strips of scarred skin that ran down his back prickled, a reminder of what happened when the guards got angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I would appreciate it," George clipped, his heart thrumming in his ears, distorting his hearing, "if you would put that down." His hand dragged over his neck. There were deep indents of nails on the sensitive skin, cleaving crescents into his aching throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you know why you're down here?" The man drew the coiled length of his whip out, unwinding the leather as he strode towards George.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Backed up against the frozen stone wall, George lifted his chin, squaring his jaw at the approaching guard. "Enlighten me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You are down here because you are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He spat and the whip cracked down on the floor. "A </span>
  <em>
    <span>freak </span>
  </em>
  <span>of nature."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Funny that you're saying that to me. Look who speaks with hatred here. Look who holds the weapon."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And yet none of us have ever murdered the innocent, have we boys?" Low laughter filled the desolate prison, the faces of the guards submerged in the shadows past the cell bars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George's stomach lurched. Lava rose hot and suffocating up his throat, spilling out from his lips in a burst of heat. "You're </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> from innocent-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are we?" The guard snickered, his black eyes glinting at George through the holes of his helmet. "Last I recall, those who are guilty rot in the cells of the King. You're here because you are an abomination. And you will </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> here for the rest of your miserable existence."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The iron bars rattled as hands swung out of the shadows and latched on, pulling them back. Several armored figures stepped into the cell, grinning wide beneath dark eyes. George stumbled back on instinct, his hands dipping down to his chest. The guards were all equipped with leather whips, as well as armor that dripped down their bodies in silver sheets. Stalking forward in the dim square of his cell, they looked like endermen hunting prey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You broke the rules, half-breed. And you know what happens to people like you. You get taught a lesson." His lips peeled into a smile and George recoiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew what was coming next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Boys!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guardsmen shoved him back harshly, sending him sprawling to the ground in a heap of wiry limbs. The rattling of the bars sounded out like the warning growl of a beast as they were flung open. The heavy clomp of leather boots sounded out in the eerie silence, reverberating in his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first kick swung into his ribs, sending stars bursting behind his eyes as white-hot pain erupted from his side. His stomach sang in pain as the steel caps of the boots drove into him again and again, rendering him a hacking and wheezing mess. George rolled over and heaved breathlessly into the ground. Tears slipped down his red hot cheeks, splattering onto the grimy floor. The pain was never-ending and his breath tangled in his throat as the cracking of whips sounded out nearby, striking against the walls beside him. They chittered and hissed like leather snakes. Bile rose heavy to his tongue and he shuddered against the ice-cold ground, feeling tears drip off his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Remember this, half-breed. You are nothing. You are weak. And if you ever break the rules again, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards left him on the ground, their cruel laughter slithering down the halls with the stomp of their boots. The cracking of whips echoed throughout the cellblock, drowned out by the heaving gasps that shredded his lungs.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George shuddered as he felt the coppery warmth of blood blossom on his tongue, spilling out of his lips like red petals. It looked gray on the dirty floor, his darkening vision playing tricks on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one would come to heal him, no magical healer would brew him a potion or sing him to sleep. George dragged himself into a ball, knees tucked under shaking arms, holding onto as much heat as he could. The sound of whips struck him once more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one can save me now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"If you're going to kill me, do it now."   </p>
<p>No response came. George frowned, his eyes flicking up. </p>
<p>The torch flame glimmered golden light over his face and George startled. Underneath the hood of the cloak, the man wore a white mask, perfectly round and etched with two dots and a curved line. A smiling face.</p>
<p>The figure standing at his cell bars was not a guard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sparks flew out of the cauldron, spattering onto his smooth skin. They fizzled and popped before blinking away like fireflies flashing away on hot June dusks. Laughter bubbled up in his chest, bursting out from him in an unruly sound. His mother tweaked his ear. She was speaking, her lovely golden eyes glittering as her ruby lips reprimanded him, but he couldn't hear her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Library shelves encompassed them, wrapping their small home in a blanket of words. His father was close by, stacking books high on the shelves. George's idle eyes wandered, watching him slot the leatherbound pages into their rightful spots on the oakwood. It was a quiet day today. They always were in the quiet little village. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father turned back and smiled wide, his round glasses flashing from where they perched atop his nose. His mother had always said he resembled his father almost perfectly. Same tousled brown hair, same glint of curiosity in glimmering eyes. Dangerous, she always told them with an all-knowing grin. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>He swung up the ladder with a thick book balanced in one hand. The pages flipped open, revealing line upon line of intricate runes.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A hand on his cheek brought him back to the bubbling pot set under his nose. Though the lessons themselves were terribly long and complex, George had come to like the time spent with his mother hunched over the black iron cauldron. It was a strange bubble of peace, a time to escape the busy marketplaces or festivals held all year round. His mother plucked a nearby stalk and dropped it in. Alongside the root, dried herbs swirled in the bubbling brew. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A sudden pounding shattered the comfort and George startled as sound ballooned around him. The rustle of his mother's apron scraped against his ears as she turned to the door, her hands brought high to rest atop her heart. The incessant sound of a fist on their door, knuckles rapping roughly against the wood pounded into his head. Whoever was outside, they weren't very happy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father stepped down from the bookshelf. He exchanged a tight-lipped look with his mother before reaching out for the door handle. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In a flurry of skirts, his mother was standing before him, a hand stretched out to cup his face in her calloused fingers. Her widened eyes met his as the door swung open, filling their house with the blinding sunlight. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"George-"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And then she was gone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wretched gasp was torn from George's throat as he woke, his cheek pressed against the frozen ground. The bite of steel sunk into his skin, shaking the dream away from his mind. He moved to stand but a harsh tugging stopped him. Thick, iron chains snaked around his wrists, confining him to the ground by a large metal bolt. The cellblock around him was still, the silence disrupted only by his stilted panting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged a hand down his face, wincing as the chains rubbed against his raw wrists. His mouth tasted of blood and bile. His ribs sparked with every trembling breath he took. The guards had done a number on him - their worst beating in a long time. It had been foolish to think they'd leave him alone. There was no sense of comradery in the mines - George was sure some desperate prisoner on level three had snitched to the guards in exchange for meager rewards. Worse than that, he knew he couldn't blame them. After all, he would be lying if he said he wouldn't do the same.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A distinct rumble shook the cell, sending dust and debris tumbling to the ground. The workday had started, George realized with a jolt. Perhaps the guards had forgotten about him. What a dream that would be. It was more likely they'd left him to bleed out, hedging bets with each other to see if he'd be dead when they returned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The scraping of boots against stone sounded out in the quiet and George tensed. By some form of hysteria, he wondered if he'd summoned the vipers to the cage. The pounding grew louder and he dropped his head to his knees, baring his teeth. Someone was coming for him, and fast. Stubborn tears leaked from his eyes as he groaned low against his icy skin. The guards were back. He was an idiot to think he was done with their torment. They were brutes, feeding off the sadistic pleasure of false power. With the chains surrounding his aching muscles and bolting him to the floor, he knew he wouldn't survive another beating. He was at the complete mercy of the King's men, and they had none. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bars of his cell rattled and George squeezed in on his shaking form, all sense of bravado extinguished.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If you're going to kill me, do it now."   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No response came. George frowned, his eyes flicking up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The figure standing at his cell bars was not a guard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hulking and cloaked in a dark material, he stared down at George with shadowed eyes. All he could make of his face were pink lips pulled low in confusion, illuminated by the glow of the torch in his right hand.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George's heart thundered in his chest, dragging himself back against the wall. The chains clinked faintly. The faint smell of gunpowder tickled his nose as the stranger looked back down the long corridor.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Is this him?" His question echoed down the halls. His accent was brash and brassy, acutely different from the hushed voices that George was used to. Whoever the man was, he wasn't from the Capital.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the call, a second figure emerged from the shadows. He was taller with a lighter cloak buttoned high. The torch flame glimmered golden light over his face and George startled. Underneath the hood of the cloak, the man wore a white mask, perfectly round and etched with two dots and a curved line. A smiling face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sight sent shivers crawling down his spine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's the only one we've seen so far. It's the lowest level, the hardest to get to. And you see those chains?" The masked man reached out for the bars, ripping them open with ease. "Only the spirited are chained." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George's eyes widened in terror as the two men stepped into his cell, pulling shadows over his face. The chains around his wrists grated against his skin as he pulled back. They didn't look to be armed, but George knew appearances didn't mean much. They weren't guards by the way they were dressed, which made their arrival that much more worrying. Level eight was virtually impenetrable without taking the patrolled hallways. It was suspended above the dangerous cave systems teeming with creatures of the night, ensuring that no miner could ever escape through the mines.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shorter man crouched down next to him, dragging his hood up out of his face. It pooled around his shoulders and George shrank in on himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What's your name?" The man asked him. The torch he held illuminated his face, revealing strong features. His hair hung over his face, his forehead bound by a plain white bandana. The tail ends ran down his neck. George's eyes flitted down the man's features, etching every detail in his mind. He was young, younger than George thought he'd be, with steel-grey eyes that shone like liquid mercury. They reflected the burnt orange of fire, swimming with clear intent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We don't have time for this." The second figure spoke bluntly from where they stood in the darkness. George watched as the man's brows twitched, his lip captured between his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We need to know if he's the one, Dream. If we bring back the wrong person-" The consequences hung heavy in the air, unspoken. His brows pulled low over blazing silver eyes. "We need to know if you're who we're looking for."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stared wide-eyed at the man, his mouth horribly dry. The heat of the torch flame made his fingers ache. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"For Prime's sake-" The second figure appeared in a whirl of yellowish-green. His smiling mask stared down at George eerily in the flickering light. "Listen here. If you don't give us an answer, you're never getting out of this miserable place."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sharp prickle of irritation ran down his arms. He glared up at the masked figure, straightening up slightly to say, "My name is George. Who are you? What do you want from me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We found him." The dark-haired man exchanged a brief look with the masked man before he spoke once more. "You need to come with us, George. I'm Sapnap, this is Dream. We've been sent here to retrieve you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George sputtered at the man's words, wondering if he was insane. "Sent her?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We need you, specifically your </span>
  <em>
    <span>skillset</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His magic. George gaped at them, his eyes moving to the empty hallway. No one stood in the shadows listening. The tension leached out of his shoulders. If they had heard such treason, the three of them would be executed without hesitation. Squinting past the darkness, his eyes trailed over the two men. They knew about his magic and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. George had never heard those words in the mines. A place where fear and pain confined magic to a flickering flame buried under mountains of ice. His heartbeat roared in his ears, his thoughts a jumbled mess at the revelation. He could use magic and he wouldn't die for it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at the smiling face on Dream's mask, he narrowed his eyes as another realization struck him.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How do you even know about that?" Five years of living in the mines had shut him off from the rest of the world. All he knew was the whispered tales of the King's tyranny, the soldiers marching onwards through the burning wreckage. Even those stories had disappeared upon his exile to level eight. If it was hard to hear about the outside world, letting others know of the torment of the slave mines was impossible. They shouldn't know who he was. They shouldn't even know he existed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We've been looking for you for a long time, George." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at Dream, who stood before him with his arms crossed. "Why me? For what?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream looked down at him, jeweled tones of red and orange flickering against his pale mask. "We're going to kill the King."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And we need your help," Sapnap finished, the corner of his lips turning up in a roguish smirk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The chains rattled as George's hand rose to his face, pressing against his cheek as though he'd wake up suddenly, alone in the silence of the mines. This was all he had ever wanted, the only thing that kept him going through the brutal nights, the cruel days. The revenge, the burning desire to kill </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The man who had killed his parents. The man who had thrown an orphaned thirteen-year-old into the Imperial Mines to die. The man who had stolen the last five years from him. Beyond everything else, George wanted to kill the King. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You say yes now and we break you out. That or you rot in here alone until you take your last breath with no one to mourn you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stared up into that soulless white mask, smiling down like the curve of a scythe. Bitterness coated his tongue. Stay in the mines and he'd work until he'd say too much, slip up, get caught. Get punished for it. They'd catch him eventually, he knew. They'd rake their whips down his back until mercy ran down his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He could outrun these men. He'd never outrun the mines. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Is that a yes?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George curled his aching hands into fists. Looking up at the torch-lit figures, he nodded. "Get me out of these chains."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A wide grin split Sapnap's lips, almost childlike in glee. He set the torch aside before laying his hands on the chain links resting on the floor. Hands curled around the iron, he waited. As the seconds ticked by, an immense heat expanded through the tiny cell, coating everything in a blanket of buzzing warmth. George grimaced as the heat grew unbearable, turning his face away from Sapnap's hunched form. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"All done." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Puddles of magma hot metal hissed on the floor, crackling with heat. The chain link was halfway gone, melted in his molten grip. Two lengths of chain were left, one wrapped tight around his wrists and the other discarded on the ground. George stared at Sapnap with wide eyes as he blew on his fingers before lifting the torch once more. His hand left black streaks on the wood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What could produce heat like that? He wracked his mind but drew nothing but blanks. It didn't look like traditional magic - he hadn't uttered any spells or enchantments. Blood-born power, then. He studied the dark-haired man, acutely aware of the danger he held at his fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not human," George whispered, watching as Sapnap coiled the remaining chain up, depositing the small pile in George's hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are any of us?" Sapnap tossed the broken chain length to the side of the cell. It hit the stone with a chittering hiss before falling lame to the ground. He whirled back to George, his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Don't tell me you're human?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked away.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap's eyes bored into him, spilling silver onto his skin as they trailed up and down his face. "That's… impossible, isn't it Dream?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We've wasted enough time here already, Sapnap," Dream growled, his back turned on the two of them. "Let's go before the guards come up."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap stood and George watched blankly as he stalked away. He moved to stand, but his knees buckled under his weight and he sunk back to the ground. He was too worn and bruised to stand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream took one look at him and groaned. "Oh for- Sapnap, carry him." George could practically see his eyes roll and annoyance twinged in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Me? I did most of the work getting here, you do it." Sapnap brushed shoulders with Dream as he slipped out of the cell. "Besides," Sapnap sang, brandishing his torch high above his head. "I have to light the way out."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a withering sigh, Dream strode forward and dropped low, his layered cloaks pooling around him on the ground. The scent of pine and leather filled his senses as Dream reached out a hand. His arms were sunkissed, though not as tan as Sapnap's, and had freckles spattered across them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Stay quiet," he murmured as his hands wrapped under his back and legs, pulling George in close. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed out an incredulous breath at the useless words, but it quickly turned into a stilted gasp as the metal chains dragged against his raw wrists. Dream paused at the sound, the dotted eyes of his mask turning to examine him for a split second. Then, he stood, lifting George close to his chest with ease. His ear against the thick layers of Dream's cloak, George wasn't sure if the pounding he heard was his own fearful heartbeat echoing in his temples, or something else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The iron bars scraped shut behind them and he shivered. He was getting out. The mere thought of escape was dizzying, and he screwed his eyes shut as Dream carried him out, maneuvering down the hallways with Sapnap leading the way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stumbled down winding stairs and dilapidated mineshafts. The empty pockets in the walls stared at George like eyes, filling him with unease as they turned down corner after corner. The temperature dropped like a stone and George knew they weren't in the torchlit mines anymore. They had ventured into the cave systems. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap's soft cursing filled the silence as he slipped over the unstable ground, boots catching on sheets of loose gravel. George couldn't stand the enclosed space. Vertigo swum behind his eyes at Dream's quick pace. Dust from the air coated his lips, spilling down his throat in an unbearable torrent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dimly lit caves lurched to the side and George's eyes shot open. The ground gave out beneath Dream's feet, sloping down to an open pocket of caves. He shot forward, grabbing onto the rocky outcrop of the wall as the gravel behind disappeared, falling into a large hole. George cried out sharply as the sharp edges of the rock wall tore into his leg, ripping the worn fabric of his pants further. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream tensed at the cry, his arm rigid under George's legs. "We're trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get caught here." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. His leg burned sharply, sending flashes of white-hot pain running down to his numb toes and up to his lower back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Setting his blazing eyes on Dream, he spat, "I'm sorry my pain inconveniences you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Your mouth is what inconveniences me-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George barely contained a mutiny of insults, swallowing down the venom on his tongue. Dream's mask stared pointedly ahead and he examined the sharp edge of his jaw curving up to ears partially covered by fine, sandy brown locks. With the mask on, he couldn't get a good read on his face, but he couldn't imagine Dream to be much older than himself. The nerve he had - George tore his gaze away, setting his glare on the pitch-black hole behind them. Gravel was a silent killer - he'd been privy to too many cave-ins due to the sandy matter. Chills ran through him as he examined the gaping expanse. There would be a cave below, and who knew the horrors that lurked in there.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Guys!" Sapnap hissed in warning, his whisper echoing against the cavern walls. The torch flame was a bright red plume, beckoning them closer from where it bloomed at the end of the tunnel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without a moment longer, Dream picked up the pace. He winced at the ache in his leg, pulling his limbs as close to his center as possible. At the action, Dream paused and George restrained an irritated sigh. He was too ready for a verbal lashing to expect what came next. Dream pulled his cloak out and dragged it over George's legs so that he was partially covered by the thick material. He gripped onto the cloak readily, relishing in the heat that sunk into his worn body. It enveloped him in the heady scent of pine. Dream stayed silent, his mask kept sternly pointed at the rapidly growing exit to the tunnel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they stumbled up the rising path, crisp air filled his lungs until he thought he might float away on the scent of sweet spruce. The tunnels began to lighten past the strength of the torch, and George gasped as he saw the curve of the milky white moon shining bright above them. Dawn had yet to spill its golden light on the lands, leaving the Wintery world blanketed in silver moonlight. The sky above exploded in a quilt of a million stars, like diamonds sparkling in a sea of coal. The sight took his breath away.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's pale mask dipped into his view, full and round just like the moon against a background of glittering black. His chest rose and fell against George's cheek, his arm warm under his aching legs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The chittering neigh of horses had him craning his neck to see two mares hidden behind a row of looming trees, tethered to the trunks by loose ropes. Sapnap extinguished his flame with a swirl of his fingers and approached the steeds. George watched the smoke curl up towards the treelines in a whisper of grey, quickly carried away by the wind.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are we going?" George rasped, his wide eyes sparkling with the forgotten sight of the night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream set him onto a chestnut brown mare, vaulting on behind him with the reigns secure in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George looked back at him, watching the moon-like mask grin at him. "Somewhere safe," Dream murmured, cracking the reigns. "We're going home."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hellooooo! </p>
<p>Thank u for the wait! This was great to write bahaha because sapnap supremacy -  yeah I said it </p>
<p>For reference, if anyone was curious, George is 18 in this, Dream and Sap are in their early 20s.</p>
<p>Thank you all for the kind comments on the last chapter!! They rlly helped with motivation and it's just rlly cool to see people liking this :0 </p>
<p>I had a question and it's cool if you don't have a preference - but would you all prefer I post chapters as soon as I'm done with them or stick to a schedule? Either works for me rlly, so lmk :)  </p>
<p>But I should be posting Chapter 3 in around 5-6 days so be on the lookout for that </p>
<p>Thanks so much for reading! I hope you're staying safe &amp; as someone reminded me last chapter, staying hydrated</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hey-“ </p>
<p>George froze against the pale fabric of the tent, acutely aware of the newfound shadow falling across his face.  </p>
<p>“Who are you?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft touch caressed his face, ice-cold against blistering skin. Someone hushed him as he pressed his cheek against the hand, face contorted in discomfort as dull aches pulsed across his body. A murmuring voice spoke to him, comforting and warm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The howl of hounds echo in his ears. Ruby red eyes spot the darkened hallways as booted feet sound out close by. The acrid stench of poison settles low in his throat, his nose burning under glistening eyes. There's a pickaxe clenched tight in his trembling grip. There's blood spattered across his face, peeling off his skin in crimson specks.   </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Phil-“ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m handling it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His heart is in his throat, stealing his screams as it pounds away. The skin of his hands is flaking off, coated in vaporous green. His eyes track shadows flitting across the stone as his shoulders knock into stalactites. They're getting closer. George can't breathe.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hands latched down on his chest, pressing him down into clouds. Liquid steel flowed down his throat and the curling silver pooling into his empty stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There are hands on his arms, hands on his neck, pulling, gripping, clawing into him. His fingers brush against the door, dancing over the cold silver doorknob. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George groaned low as his head thrummed, tearing apart his fragmented mind. Tendrils of golden light cracked through his eyelids, filling the sloshing darkness with the sun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He peered up, squinting as his vision blurred in and out of clarity. A flash of golden-green painted his vision before he was enveloped in white. Feathery wings fell over his face, brushing against his cheek like fresh-fallen snow. He scrunched up his nose as the fluffy bristles swept through the air, pulled back to whomever they belonged to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>An angel? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George only knew of evil spirits, the vexes and fairies of the world that would move through stone and rock to drag wrongdoers to Hell. Spiders crawled down his spine. If he was seeing an angel, it could only mean one thing. Perhaps the guards had broken him down, melted his resolve down to bitter imperial steel. He was fighting, he had always been fighting - but he couldn't deny the fractures in his walls. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of dying felt wrong - George didn't want to be dead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"For Prime's sake would you be quiet? You're not dead."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Laughter sounded around him, echoing throughout his head like a ringing bell. George turned away from the sound. The accompanying feeling made him wince. His head was stuffed full of cotton, dulling everything until he felt like he was underwater. Sharp pain echoed throughout his frail form like throwing stones rippling across a glass pond. He was tearing in two.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Alright, get out, the lot of you." Their voice was like the toll of a heavy bell, ringing clear and true in the suffering spaces of George's mind. It cleared his pain momentarily and he breathed out a shuddering sigh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shuffling of feet was dulled as white flashed across his vision once. The soothing voice spoke to him in dulcet tones, pushing all the pain away until everything faded to black. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coherency came slowly and then all at once in a torrent of jagged memories. A sharp flash of pain struck him square in the abdomen as he sat up, his mind reeling with the faint visions of torches, cloaks, a mask as round as the moon. He could feel the lasting heat of hands curled around his legs and back, the faint echo of a gentle heartbeat fluttering against his cheek. The sun splashed strokes of fresh light across his pale visage, painting him in gold. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hands tangled into the cotton sheets of the cot, bandaged fingers gripping into the soft fabric. George found a strange sort of beauty in the snowy white bandages wrapped around his broken form, glowing almost silver in the pure, shining sun. For a second, he let himself breathe. The heat sunk into his aching body, an ancient remedy to eviscerate the feeling of freezing chains grating against his skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Someone had dressed him in plain cotton trousers and a light tunic, his bandages peeking out from beneath the shirt's neck. The weight of soot and grime was gone from his face, as were the spatterings of blood across his blistered skin. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>clean</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was heaven. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ghostly screams of the mines would likely never dissipate from his head, but the physical reminders would fade away. At least, George hoped they would. He could feel the raw ache of his wrists under the snowy bindings, pulsing away with restrained heat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting his head up, he watched his shadow flit across the walls. The walls of the structure billowed around him, made of a thick cream fabric that curved inwards. The style was similar to the tents of wandering tradesmen, the mysterious merchants that occasionally wandered into his village in search of business. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where am I?" His voice was raspy in the stillness of the tent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fear slithered cold and quick into his heart as the silence burrowed itself into his brain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream and Sapnap were against the King, but that didn't mean they were good people. He didn't know what he was going to be used for. Though it was hard to imagine, the fate he held in their hands could be worse than the mines. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knew enough about biomes to make a run for it. Survival alone was difficult and he hadn't been exposed to the outside world in years, but his chances were favorable. Village outposts dotted the lands across all terrains, it wouldn't be that hard to stumble upon a friendly few. The only issue would be the King's men. By this point, they would know that George was gone. He could only run for so long. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Struggling against the mounds of cotton sheets and blankets, George hefted his weight up. The barrage of aches and pains shook his broken form as he stumbled out of the tent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The outside world bloomed with life. A dense canopy of oak and dark wood leaves fanned over his head, creating spiny shadows across the pathed dirt. Earthy pine filled his nose, fresh and clear like spring water. Homey structures filled the clearing, humble thatched houses made of the forest’s wood. The path was laid in with stone and packed dirt, unlit lanterns strung up high on wooden fences along the way. A sweeping whisper of wind brushed his hair from his wide eyes. He was in the midst of a woodland village. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His heart ached something fierce as his eyes tracked over the busy forms of villagers performing their mundane tasks, exchanging inaudible conversations as the whole village seemed to glow with life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A path was carved out before him, wandering past the swinging lanterns and bulky houses. The village was large - substantially larger than most from what he could recall. The more he examined it, he began to see newer structures and tents pitched up around the center village. This wasn’t just a singular village. It was a growing society.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Karl!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the sudden reverberating call, George flailed back against the tent fabric, knocking his hand against a wooden sign. Etched into the signpost in a child's manic scrawl was the word "Tnret". </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A young man ambled up the path hurriedly, a black cap fit snugly against his bright orange hair. The fluffy locks fell over his face, masking his eyes. He was holding a dented frying pan, waving it over his head at the figure across from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George sunk back into the billowing tent. His breath came in quick puffs, his lungs squeezed tight in the bony clutches of his crumpled form. He wasn't supposed to be here. They couldn't see him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other man was smaller, shorter too, with chestnut brown hair that brushed against tightly pulled brows. In his arms, he held a white-feathered chicken. It was strangely calm, George noted. He'd never seen a quiet chicken.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Fundy," The smaller man - Karl, chittered nervously, depositing the chicken behind him hurriedly. The fowl clucked and shook its speckled wings as the other man grew near. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy took one look at Karl before he launched into a chastising rant, demanding, "Karl, hand over the chicken." At the other man's crossed arms, Fundy growled low in his throat, an exhausted sigh. "You cannot keep getting attached to the animals!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You can't tell me you'd want to eat this one - look at his cute little face!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the </span>
  <em>
    <span>farmer</span>
  </em>
  <span> Karl, it’s your job to give me animals to cook.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fundy!” The shorter man gasped, his wind-bitten lips pinched together in a childish scowl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was ridiculous. George peered out at the sight from where he cowered in the folds of the tent. The two men stood further down the path, blocking his route to the forest. The sky was quickly changing, souring into plum purple swirls. Time was running out - he'd have to start moving or he wouldn't make it out before nightfall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy growled low in his throat, turning away in exasperation. His hand dug into the soft flesh of his hat, pressing it down against his eyes. His mouth opened to retort, revealing pointed canines that dug into his lower lip. George's eyes widened at the sight. Teeth like that weren't normal - at least not in the Kingdom of their current King. He hadn't seen such features openly displayed in years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those with mixed blood often had features unique to halflings, though George had rarely seen any. He remembered very little from his childhood in the village, but the guards tended to target those with obvious ties to magic lineage. Due to such reasons, most chose to hide their abnormalities. It was oftentimes the only way to escape judgment, or worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey-“ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George froze against the pale fabric of the tent, acutely aware of the newfound shadow falling across his face.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stood before him, head cocked and owlish eyes set on his face, was Karl. George gaped in open horror at the man. His fluffy hair swirled up above sparkling doe-brown eyes. They were perhaps the most gleeful eyes George had ever seen - shining warm with mirth despite the confused tug of his cherry lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy remained on the path before them, but his gaze was similarly trained on George. His eyes were sharp beneath thick locks of burnt orange, shadowed by the brim of his cap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blood rushed out of his face, leaving him dizzy in the fading sun. Karl's hand stretched out for his shoulder and George ducked. His knees cracked like the breaking of ice as he darted down the path, the heat of Karl's hand scalding his skin like a torch flame. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The skeletal fans of tree branches flew by as George rushed past person after person. A litany of curses filled his head. How stupid of him it was to let his mind wander - he cursed his carelessness as he threw himself down the path. The golden glow of houses illuminated his face as the sun ducked behind the mountainous backdrop, a perfectly round egg dipped into inky black. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A flurry of white flew by too quick to follow as something sharp dug into his stomach. George gasped out as he fell back, his hand knocking into something heavy as he fell on his backside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tulips scattered across the ground, their petals a flurry of vibrant color against the dull packed dirt. George followed the folds of a linen skirt up to the embroidered border of a snowy white bodice. A woman stared at him, her pink lips full and curved down in worry. Her hair framed her delicate features. Honey-colored strands fell to her lips whilst chestnut brown locks fell to her shoulders, cut well by a sharp blade. Somehow, the strange coloring only added to her allure. Her basket hung half empty at her side, the contents strewn all over the ground. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Her voice was something akin to the tinkle of a bell, silvery and pleasing to the ear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the pretty sound, George startled, his eyes blown wide in panic. Feathery petals kissed his knuckles as he picked himself up, wondering how he didn't knock the girl off of her feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The scent of caramelized sugar and pastries hung heavy around him, sickeningly sweet. Five years of tasteless grains and grey oats had left his stomach pathetically weak, and the vague scent of sugar was enough to make him recoil. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman stretched out a careful hand, her calloused fingers fractions away from his cheek. Stormy grey eyes peered into him, bright with concern. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George whirled around at the shout, his heart jumping to his throat. At the far end of the worn path, Karl stood with his finger pointed to him almost comically. By his side was a familiar man, his dark hair pulled out of his face by a white bandanna. George cursed, his eyes flicking to the woman for a brief second before he took off down the path. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A startled grunt sounded out from behind before Sapnap took chase. The pounding of boots on the ground sent ice shooting through his deadened limbs. It was almost paralyzing, the way fear seized him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get back here you nimrod!” Sapnap was screaming behind him, the thudding of his feet growing steadily louder. “Goddamn Gogy- Goreg- whatever your name is-“ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George flew by the blurry forms of villagers, his temples throbbing painfully as his heart leaped up to his throat. Stacks of hay scratched against his bare arms as he ran past a farmhouse, following the ghostly iron lanterns to the center of the village. Doors of houses closed shut one by one around him as villagers retired, unwilling to risk the dangers of the darkening night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell, how</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you run so fast? You're so short!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George could feel the fire of Sapnap's breath on his neck. His growls shattered the beauty of the sunset as they ran through the deserted pathways. Past the housetops of homes billowing white smoke from their squat chimneys, the silhouette of the grim forest loomed ahead. He kept his eyes trained on the treeline. If he could duck into the dark oak woods, he could lose Sapnap in seconds. The dense canopy allowed for little light to seep into the forest, shrouding everything in a layer of shadows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A bellow of rage shattered his thoughts - the only warning George received before arms shot around his hips, dragging him to the unforgiving ground. Hitting the dirt hard, George tumbled into a sideways roll with Sapnap clutching onto him. The dim glow of lanterns blurred with the mossy ground beneath as the two tumbled to a stop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arms carved from stone caged him in, large hands pinning his shoulders down. Molten silver eyes glared into his, narrowed dangerously. The white tail-end of his bandana tickled George's nose. Sapnap's knee dug into the side of his hip, pressing tight against his bone. Underneath his hands, George's skin blazed with heat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> annoying," Sapnap breathed heavily. George followed the sharp cut of his jaw down to his heaving chest. Where Sapnap was made of hardened muscle, he was a ghastly imprint of what once was.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His body had withered in the harsh conditions of the mines. Where unblemished flesh once was, a hollowed-out stomach remained, ribs jutting out like daggers sunken in pale sand. Muscles once used in mining were ripped up and torn, of no use to him. His papery skin was a map of scars with no treasure to be found, and far too many crosses. Silver poured over his shaking frame and the hands on his shoulders cooled in the night. Shame colored his face vermillion as he turned away, his flaming cheek pressed against the damp ground. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two booted feet stood before him. George startled harshly in Sapnap's grip, knocking his head back against one of his arms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What the hell are you two doing?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a flash, Sapnap was pulled off of him. George gulped in fresh air like water. His heart was a fluttering mess under his skin, a bird caged in by spidery ribs.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A smiling moon grinned down at him, the curve of its smoky mouth glinting in the darkness. Dream's lips were pressed together tightly, two twisted petals of pink. His cloak billowed around them, tossed around by the gusts of finicky wind. He looked like a phantom, some ethereal envisionment of death. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get up." The moon disappeared in a wink of white as Dream turned away, his leather boots swinging out as he set off down the path. "You have a meeting."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A meeting?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Who would want to meet him? He was a nobody, a slave to the King. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A cold feeling settled into his bones as he remembered why he was there. Dream had said they needed him, they needed his skills. If Dream wasn't the leader of this village, George couldn't help but wonder who was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you coming?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mask stared at him in the moonlight, eerily happy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His bones crackled like tinder as picked himself up off the damp ground, following Dream as he set off for the bobbing lanterns.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hulloooo :) </p>
<p>Thank you for all the support so far! </p>
<p>Fundy and Karl babyyyy let's gooooo (and Phil + Niki too :D) </p>
<p>This chapter was a lil shorter for pretty obvious reasons - George needs to find his way into the village, but things will pick up in the next chapter or so. </p>
<p>Speaking of, I'll most likely be updating this again tomorrow because chap. 4 is pretty much done! So for now, keep an eye out for that :)</p>
<p>I hope u enjoyed, let me know what you thought &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Welcome. I assume you're George." </p>
<p>He snapped out of his reverie. A man stood before him, towering in height and stature. He reeked of power. His voice, though monotonous, held a tone that reverberated through his bones, speaking of dormant strength. It was the voice of a commander. A leader. </p>
<p>"Don't speak much, do you?" The man drawled lazily and his eyes snapped up to his bored gaze. Warmth crept up his neck as he was scrutinized. </p>
<p>Dream snorted from across the room, staring down at George. "You'll find that's a running theme." </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The night was dry as bone, cracking rivers into George's lips. Dream led him swiftly past row after row of village houses. His eyes were trained on the man before him, burning into swathes of dark green fabric. As if he could feel George's scathing stare, Dream picked up the pace. His boots clicked sharply against the ground. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are we going?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence greeted him. From behind him, Sapnap coughed awkwardly, his hand scratching at his raven locks. Dream paid them no mind.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, he wouldn't. Arrogant prick.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The village was cast in heavy shadows, a ghost town in the midst of the night. The swaying lanterns were the only source of light save for the sliced moon gleaming down on them. George couldn't help his eyes from wandering across the man before him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream moved swiftly, like a snake through water. The silver light painted streaks of metal across his swirling cape. With legs that could cross rivers and arms that could brush the stars, he towered over George. The wind bit into his hands and he shoved them into his pockets. Once again, he was bitterly reminded of his weakened body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A looming mass greeted them at the end of the brisk walk, coming into view as a large oakwood structure. With slanted roof tiles made of hardened clay and a grand chimney puffing smokey grey into the sky, it was grander than any of the other homes. Whoever lived in it had money, influence. Power, George thought darkly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If you're done staring, we're late." Dream's voice grated his ears as the man turned to him impatiently. His mask gleamed like a smooth plate of bone, milky white and grinning. Not once had George seen more than the cruel twist of his lips. He wondered faintly if Dream had the mask nailed to his face. Perhaps it hid some horrifying scar or blemish - though he didn't think Dream was that narcissistic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not my fault," He huffed, resisting the urge to lob a stone at the back of Dream's head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The masked man was already climbing the stairs to the entrance. The grand porch was lit dimly by flickering lanterns hung up on iron chains. Across from the door was a row of barrels stacked high on top of each other, sealed tightly with round plugs. A net of some sort was tossed in the corner beside them, smelling faintly of fish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden unease pooled in George's stomach as he watched Dream stand before the large oak wood door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going in until I know what’s waiting for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's sigh hissed from lips pulled tight together, his jaw clenched. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder and George whirled around. Silver eyes gleamed at him in the dim moonlight, bright as sterling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"All you need to know," the corner of Sapnap's lips turned up in a roguish smirk as he pushed George forward. "Is that we're the good guys."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Highly doubtable. His ribs still ached from Sapnap's flying tackle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Buttery yellow light spilled out from the cracks underneath the heavy spruce door, illuminating the metal clasps on Dream's boots. He rapped his knuckles against the wood three times before standing back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stood with bated breath behind Dream, his eyes level with his broad shoulders. Whoever was waiting inside was important. It was likely that they were the very reason George stood alive and healing in the darkening village instead of bleeding out in the coal mines. But what they would want from him scared him more than what may have been. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A clattering ring sounded out abruptly from the shadowed corner of the porch. A silent curse bubbled on his tongue as he jumped, almost catching Sapnap in the jaw with his fist. The man quickly side-stepped, yanking him back harshly by the collar of his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream moved faster than the eyes could track - a flurry of golden-green robes. George watched, chest thundering, as he stepped towards the noise, a glinting knife clutched tight in a secure grip. He hadn't even known he was armed. Well practiced, he moved with the grace of a fae despite being bound to a human body. What on Earth was he - George found himself wondering as he watched Dream's knife dip down, his rigid shoulders melting down like wax. What kind of man could move so fast? He flipped the knife back into the folds of his cloak, letting whatever sheath he had strapped to his form swallow the blade. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You know you're not supposed to be here, Tommy." Dream's voice dripped with amusement as the cold eyes of his mask turned to the side of the porch. It was a stark change in tone, one that had his head turning. George squinted into the darkness, eyes widening as something moved to latch onto the window. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nestled against one of the barrels was a young boy, fresh-faced and pale. Icy eyes of brilliant blue speared into Dream with a surprising intensity. Pink lips were pulled down in a severe frown. He pried his fingers off the window sill, flashing them a vulgar sign. Faintly, George wondered how something so young could look so angry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh sod off, Dre. I can do what I want." Chest puffed out, arms crossed, Tommy resembled a gremlin more than he did a child. But as he relaxed back into the pool of golden lantern light, George caught a glimpse of his lanky form. His golden hair contrasted sharply with the roiling blue of his eyes like the Summer sun glinting off of ocean waves. He wore a strikingly red coat over a plain cotton shirt, clasped tight around his neck with a small golden button. It looked as though it was emblazoned with a crest though the metal was dull and dinged.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream huffed and tilted his head up and George got the inkling the man was rolling his eyes. Whoever Tommy was, he'd certainly had this conversation with Dream before. Brothers, perhaps? Switching his gaze between the two, he deemed it was possible. Tommy was paler, skinnier too, but there was something telling in the way they interacted so bluntly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their exchange was cut short suddenly as the door swung open silently, splashing inviting warmth out onto the front porch. Dream stepped in quickly, sparing Tommy one more glance before he was enveloped in a pool of yellow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy grinned, seeming to have won the argument in his mind. George watched as he pulled himself up to the window once more, peering inside intently.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Attention lost, George took it as his cue to leave. The light of the house seeped into his eyes, chasing away the shadows of the forest as a homey room stretched out before him. A crackling fireplace topped high with wooden logs provided relief from the cold. His nose burned from the heat, as did his fingertips. A grand table stood before him, lengths of parchments sprawled across the wood. Then the eyes landed on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seated around the rectangular table were several figures, their gaze fixed on the new arrival. Under the steely weight of their eyes, a sudden vulnerability struck him. It made him want to shrink, to wither in on himself like a flower. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Welcome. I assume you're George." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snapped out of his reverie. A man stood before him, towering in height and stature. He reeked of power. His voice, though monotonous, held a tone that reverberated through his bones, speaking of dormant strength. It was the voice of a commander. A leader. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A bejeweled circlet sat glinting atop his head, a jagged emerald stone set in the dead center of the golden ring. The gemstone winked cruelly at him, the single gleaming rock worth more than a decade's haul of coal. A cherry red cloak hung around the man’s shoulders to the floor, lined with white fur and secured at his front with a brilliant brooch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though his clothes screamed of unrestrained luxury, the man's features were by far more startling. His crimson eyes held the fires of hell, alight and burning with unmistakable passion. A slash of white cut through one of his eyes, scarring his pale skin in a crooked line. It only seemed to heighten the intensity of his gaze. Ropes of pink hair draped over his shoulder in a trailing braid. Sharp canines jutted up into the man's lips, telling of his true lineage. He wasn't human, at least not fully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stole George's breath away. Be it with awe or fear, his heart pulsed heavy in his temples. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't speak much, do you?" The man drawled lazily and his eyes snapped up to his bored gaze. Warmth crept up his neck as he was scrutinized. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream snorted from across the room, staring down at George. "You'll find that's a running theme." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Very well, then. My name is Technoblade, the leader of this camp. Just 'Techno' will suffice. I assume you know why you're here." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took his seat at the head of the table, draping himself languidly across the ornate block of wood. Though he seemed relaxed, George caught the gleam in his blood-red eyes. He was being assessed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So be it then. If they had gone through the trouble of getting him out of the Imperial Mines, he was certainly valuable to them. He could work with that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took a seat at the only open space at the other end of the table. Countless eyes followed him as he sat down. His wrist clicked sharply as he grabbed onto the chair's arms. Phantom pains echoed over his body but he kept a straight face. Pain signified weakness, and at a table of strangers, that was lethal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A woman sat at the closest seat to him, her crystalline eyes boring into him. He caught a glimmer of tact in those watery blue eyes, enhanced by the curl of her lips. She looked almost regal, cloaked in a cherry red coat, but what caught his eyes the most was her hair. Voluminous and white as a cloud, it flowed down her back in an untamable puff of thick hair. Elongated ears peeked out from the spirals of curls, similar to the ears of a sheep. Like Technoblade, she was a half-blood.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Further down the table was a man cloaked entirely in black and red, his face shadowed behind a low hood. George stared at his hands, which rested atop the table beside a half-rolled parchment. His fingers were pitch-black and as sharp as knives, easily able to carve into the wooden table. The man dragged his hands back into his lap and George looked away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Our informants tell us you survived for five years down in those mines," Technoblade spoke smoothly. "Quite impressive, really. Most don't last for half as long." He trained his fiery gaze on George. "Tell us then George, what makes you so special?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not quite sure myself," He smiled innocently at the man, clasping his hands in front of him to hold his crumbling fingers together. "Though I'd love to hear your theories."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno looked unimpressed, his bored gaze straying to Dream. The masked man was leaning against the far wall, the dotted eyes of his guise boring into George's head. He repressed a shudder at the disturbing sight. Dream remained silent, and Techno swung his attention back to George.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You see, George, rumors spread quickly in this Kingdom," He spoke slowly and deliberately. "And we just so happened to hear one about a certain worker trapped in the King's mines. People talk, George. And once they start, you'll find they rarely stop. Reports started to come in - strange little stories about boys and girls, men and women who were terribly ill one day and miraculously healed the next."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cold sweat slithered down the back of his neck. It was true, albeit perhaps a bit exaggerated. Within those five years, no day ended without a tragedy. Whether or not that tragedy came to pass depended on his hands.  The flames of the fireplace licked up the side of the wall, painting shadowed claws on the brick. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Most curious." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed," Techno's eyes were narrowed into slivers of ruby. "When we did a little more digging, we found out their newfound breath was no thanks to miracles. It was all thanks to one person. Now isn't that just unheard of? A person skilled enough to slip out of their cell, someone with the abilities to vanquish death in one night? Now I don't know about you, George, but that's someone I want on my side." Techno continued quickly, his words dipped in steel. "This is where it really gets interesting. The guards had been reporting missing supplies of gold, redstone powder, even morsels of their food. And in the lower caverns, trails of scarlet powder, the smell of gunpowder sprayed across the walls, </span>
  <em>
    <span>spider</span>
  </em>
  <span> carcasses with missing eyes - the list of peculiarities discovered goes on."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gleaming red eyes bore into his soul as chittering hisses fill his ears. String falls off his arms in sticky bunches as tears trickle down his cheeks. Horrors paint his vision black. Eight fleshy lumps cradled in his hands feel like lead. What has he done? What has he done? What has he- </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And it was here that we understood what they were doing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>was making potions for the slaves. Once we knew what they were doing, it was child’s play to find out who they were. The only person daring enough to make an escape-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hot, sticky blood splashes across his face. He's crying crimson all over the floor, his eyes a blurry haze. The pickaxe feels like dead weight in his trembling hands. His feet drag over bodies as he runs. There's howling behind him. They're coming. They're so close. They're </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What is your </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" The words were torn from his throat in a wretched mess. He suppressed a groan as his head ached sharply, his ears ringing with tortured gasps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Techno thunders, his crimson eyes boring into George's with the intensity of white-hot flames, "is that we found you, George. There is no more hiding for you. We need your skills and you're going to help us win this war."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And why should I help you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Every day, we grow steadily stronger. Our forces will never outnumber the King's, but we are far more powerful. We embrace the things he </span>
  <em>
    <span>fears</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Without the King, there would be no more living in fear. No baseless manslaughter or miserable tyranny. We could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>free</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I think no one would want that more than you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George set his gaze on Techno, watching as the man spoke with mounting passion. It was too ideal. It all sounded like a farfetched fantasy. Life was too cruel to make room for such visions, that was something he knew to be true.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where do I fit into this dream?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's far from a dream." The wooden chair creaked as Techno leaned forward, his white-sleeved arms resting on the table. "We have people willing to fight. We know the casualties may be immense, but we are prepared for such things. Or we will be." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a moment it all clicked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A Cheshire grin curled his stinging lips up. "So you need a healer, someone to make potions for your endeavors." At Techno's nod, he scoffed. "And you chose me? There are more qualified out there. You shouldn't have picked me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We have a healer, but he knows little about your type of magic. And given your previous status as a… mandatory worker, your disappearance won't be lingered on for long. Believe it or not, we thought this out before kidnapping you." His voice dripped with sarcasm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A healer, huh… George's fingers ached with the restless burn to work. To feel smooth glass beneath his hands and dip his skin into golden powder, to press a potion to a wound and watch as the skin knitted back together seamlessly. The mines had stolen the beauty from his work, corrupting it into a necessity, a last, harrowed effort for survival. The King had condemned his gift, calling those with magic brewing in their veins abominations, monsters even. And yet George wouldn't have been alive without it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Technoblade held his gaze readily, so much emotion boiling behind a calm exterior. They were rebels, the closest thing to safety in a world that damned him. They were going to kill the king, and George could take it all from him- every sacrifice he'd made, every tear he'd shed, and friend he'd lost. He could end it all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fine." His chair groaned as he stood, drawing himself up to his full height despite the ache in his ribs. "But I have conditions."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you really think you're in a position to bargain?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes," George spoke with finality. Techno himself had confirmed it - they needed him, and him specifically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno sighed low in his throat. "Go on then."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I get to kill him."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence was deafening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The King." Black venom dripped from his tongue as his nails dug into his shaking palms. Techno stared down at him, his face an unreadable mask. Bitterness rose in George's throat and he spat, "He stole everything from me. He took my </span>
  <em>
    <span>life </span>
  </em>
  <span>from me. I want to be the one to return the favor."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words left wide eyes in their wake, many members of the council looking at him with surprise. Some even looked admiring. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno's mouth parted, unspoken words heavy on his tongue. He stared at George as if he were surprised such strength came from him - as if he were surprised the leather whips of the guards hadn't broken him entirely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't guarantee that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Then I won't work with you." It spilled from his lips before he could stop himself. Techno's knuckles paled in his clasped hands. George was playing a dangerous game, but it was well worth the risks.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you even know how to fight?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll learn."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And who do you think is going to teach you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In an instant, his fire was stolen. George stopped short, his hands clenching into fists. He had forgotten in his bout of power one crucial detail. He was alone. He was weak. His eyes scoured the table, past a burly man dressed in flannel, to a fair-haired man playing with a dagger, to the dark-cloaked man, to the fluffy-haired woman. Their eyes danced across the table, suddenly interested in the swirling wood grain. Techno sat back, his shoulders relaxing as the hint of a smirk etched divots into his lips.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll do it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George snapped his head up, eyes popping wide open in disbelief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream stared back, easily meeting the gazes of the seated. Techno fixated those burning eyes on him, an unasked question hanging heavy around them. He shrugged, pushing off the wall. His mask turned to George, who sat gripping the edge of the table in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I won't go easy on you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Good," George spoke, but it came out a hushed whisper. He racked over Dream's face, looking for any hint of emotion in the harsh line of his lips, the smooth surface of his skin. He found nothing.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Great," Techno drawled, dragging a hand across his weary face. "If we're done with that-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A great gust of icy wind rushed over them as the door swung open, illuminating the grand silhouette of a figure. George inhaled a shaky breath at the sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the glow of the rising sun, a man stood before them, basking in the heavenly glow. Wings of pure snowy white stretched out behind him, feathers gilded in the gold of the sun. George had never seen such beauty encompassed in one figure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you lot still doing up?" He spoke softly, yet the ring of his voice was clear. Sweeping into the room in a flurry of green robes, George caught a better look at the man. He wasn't shockingly beautiful, not in the same way Techno was, but George found something equally as bold in the strength of his jaw. With pale skin and hair spun from silk that fell to his angular chin, the winged man could be compared to an angel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>"Phil," Techno greeted soundly with a nod. George noted with interest how the leader seemed to relax in the presence of the newcomer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A fatherly smile lifted Phil's lips as he gave Dream a curt nod, heading towards the table. He had influence, easily seen as the tense mood lightened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Piercing cobalt eyes met his and the smile dropped from Phil's face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?" Philza whirled around to face Techno, sparing George no time to respond. "Techno, you promised me you'd wait until he was healed."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't look at me. Dream brought him in."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George winced at the glare Dream received. Philza, despite the soft beauty of his face and wings, was a definite force to be reckoned with. The feathers on his folded wings bristled slightly, catching a soft gale from the open door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream made no move to defend himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We were done here anyway," Techno dismissed coolly, dragging his chair back as he stood to full height. Towering over the rest of the table, he set his eyes on George. "We'll have a room set up for you by tomorrow. I hope the tent will serve you well until then."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a sweep of crimson, he was gone, giving Phil a nod before he was stepping out into the fresh day's light. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the council members quickly followed, shuffling out after one another like sheep. No one gave him a second glance as they left.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll return him to his tent now."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George looked up sharply at that, watching as Dream stepped to the door, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his sword. His knuckles, much like the rest of him, were covered in bands of fabric. Only the sun-kissed skin of his fingers were visible.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There will be no need for that," Phil spoke softly as he tilted his head at George, cobalt eyes stark against the green of his robes. "I will be taking him from here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No further questions asked, Dream and Sapnap left, disappearing into the beginnings of the day. George couldn't help but linger on their retreating figures, squinting into the rising sun to hold onto their smudged forms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shall we?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George swallowed the rattling nerves hissing in his stomach, letting Phil guide him out the door. A single plume of snowy white was left on the floor, a smear of ivory against a backdrop of coal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>double update weeee woooo </p>
<p>I hope everyone is doing well! This was a fun one to write so feel free to let me know ur thoughts! I'm pretty sure you can guess most of the people who were at the meeting, but they'll most likely turn up sooner or later throughout this story :) </p>
<p>**Kind of an important update: I'll be updating this once a week usually around 11-12 pm JST (Tokyo) so keep an eye out for an update then - and a reminder, I update usually anywhere between Friday and Sunday. </p>
<p>ok anyways WOW the lore streams recently goddamn- um, is everyone okay? because I'm not. </p>
<p>Anyhoo I'll see you next week! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You asked about the rebellion?" He cleared his throat. "While I may not know all that much about potions, history is a passion of mine."</p>
<p>"Magical history?" George asked hopefully through a mouthful of stew. </p>
<p>Phil's lips twitched. "Oh, where to start?"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The whites of his eyes stared at him, wavy and misshapen in the reflection of the glass stood before his nose. Hundreds of the bottles lined the shelves around him, elongated necks, stout bodies, thin lips, wide bases - the range of their shapes was boggling. Some were filled, most only held dust. Lanterns dropped down from the thatched roof,  illuminating the cluttered room with a warm, earthy light. George's eyes lingered on the vines creeping through the ceiling, trailing down the walls down to the massive hearth below. A rusted cauldron sat squat in the center, begging to be lit by lovely flames as it sat in the cold ashes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza's treehouse lay on the outskirts of the village, nestled close to the shadowed forest. He had openly gaped when he first laid eyes on the sight. Rigged with rope ladders and oakwood steps, the treehouse was a collection of three or four structures built higher and higher into the thick branches of a massive dark oak tree. With his wings, Philza would have no problem soaring to the top of the canopy where the tiles of his roof peeked out of the foliage. However, the man had stood waiting as George fought with the ladder ropes, heaving his aching body to the wooden platform hidden in the leaves. The bout of lightheadedness that had struck was enough of a deterrent to keep him away from the tree, but the feeling had dispersed immediately upon entering the main structure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If the King claimed to have rid the world of magic, he had missed a spot. Philza's home was filled to the brim with artifacts and items, an organized chaos of cluttered shelves and overflowing drawers. A strange sensation pulled at his skin, speaking of something otherworldly as he entered the home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza stood at one of the countertops, parting seas of leather-bound novels and worn notebooks. A thrill ran through George as he skimmed over the titles. Many were unrecognizable, but a few tickled his memory with whispers of words he thought were long since lost to the King's sieges. The thought of pouring through a book was tantalizing. The soft feel of pages slipping between his fingers would always recall the clove and leather scent of his father's library.     </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Come lend a hand." Philza looked back at him with a gentle smile, a large fern nestled in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he stepped over papers and trinkets, George tried not to stare at the wings tucked against the man's back, lying flat against the robes he wore. In the dim light of the lanterns, the feathers looked stormy-gray. How incredible he must look, stretched against the sky like a summer sparrow. George looked away. Something about the thought of flying weightlessly made his heart squeeze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Winding shelves filled most of the walls, dogeared books squeezed in tight between jars with faded labels. Framed pictures hung on the wooden walls, often depicting four figures squeezed close. George shifted warily on his feet. The windows were all shut, thin rays of light creeping across the wooden floor. The only way out was through the trapdoor behind him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza placed a pot of cascading ivy into his hands, directing him towards a shelf at the back of the room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You'll be spending most of your time here with me," Philza explained as he slotted books into shelves. The bound pages were swallowed into their places like puzzle pieces. "I hope you don't mind the mess. It's been a while since I had an apprentice." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ivy plant curled around his wrists like veiny snakes, arrow-shaped leaves smooth against his bandaged skin. The stems of several leaves were cut off bluntly at their root. Ivy leaves were often used in poultices, George recalled as he set the plant pot down. His fingers shook with the weight of the clay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza's careful gaze watched him close, his lips thinning as his piercing eyes ran over George's trembling hands. He stopped giving him plants after that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The minutes passed thick as honey as the two worked, with Philza directing him towards shelves, cabinets, drawers, and counters. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wrists aching and back slick with sweat, George tugged open a stubborn drawer. Plumes of dust puffed into his face. He dragged a heavy hand down his eyes, his fingers coming back chalky. How he wished to fling open the windows. The stuffy air was getting to him, the scents of dried herbs overwhelmingly potent in the enclosed room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The open drawer beneath him was filled with bottled herbs, each meticulously labeled with fine black ink. They laid in neat little lines, soldiers in a battalion of spices and ingredients. Familiar powders and herbs revealed the extent of Philza's abilities. Some of this stuff was so rare it wasn't even sold in the Capital - and if Philza knew how to use it all… He set his gaze on the winged man, who was idly flipping through a journal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why do you even need me here? You clearly know what you're doing."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man set the book down, leaving it strewn about on the countertop. He could see how the room got to look so jumbled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Magic is a lot more nuanced than you might think. While I am capable of certain types of magic, other skills lie outside of my world." Philza stood beside him, looking over at the bottled herbs. "Yours, however, is blooming with every year you toil."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't make potions?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't," Philza corrected, his long fingers plucking a bottle hidden in the back row. George's eyes popped open as the contents hit a stray sunbeam. The insides glimmered with a gritty powder, shifting between vibrant yellow and orange. Phantom hands guided his own, sinking his fingers through the burning powder. His mother's sweet voice slipped through his ears, carried on out of the treehouse as Philza shook the bottle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blaze powder was a rare commodity, something George hadn't laid eyes on in years. No materials of such worth were ever brought into the mines. Coal, gold, the occasional hunk of diamond or emerald, none were as special as dimensional materials. The billowing cloud of fire that produced the powder was fearsome enough to drive anyone away from its hellfire home. He wondered which brave soul had gathered the material. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Philza noticed his starstruck look, he didn't comment. "Many of these ingredients, while possibly useful, will never reach their full potential under my hand." Cobalt eyes bored into his. "Perhaps with you, those things will change."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You've never tried them before?" He couldn't imagine not doing so. The mere thought of blaze powder had his fingers itching to snatch the bottle away, to toss it into a cauldron and conjure brews of liquid gold. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't say that, of course. But as I'm sure you know," A rumbling sigh echoed through the treehouse. "Knowledge is hard to find these days."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thoughts of gold and glory evaporated. The acrid smell of smoke and ash filled George's nose. Thatched cottages burning to the ground, bales of smoking hay, and the screams of the taken. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His mother is yelling at him to run. George can't breathe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There are a few villages near here, only a day's flight away." Philza's voice broke through the wall of noise and George swallowed down smoke, hating the way his eyes prickled. "I get many of the resources you'll find here from trader outposts there. However, one can only do so much with what little they know."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The villages still stand?" George leaned forward, his heart leaping in his chest. The villages from North to West were ransacked mercilessly, their resources plundered and their livelihoods razed to the ground. He hadn't thought anything remained. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not many, but yes, a few escaped the burnings. Not without paying the price."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George swayed on his feet. "Philza-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Call me Phil." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, a white-knuckled grip latched onto the counter. "What happened while I was-" The rattling of chains hissed in his ears. "How did the rebellion form?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Philza hummed, a forlorn look smoldering in his eyes. "That is quite the story." A hand on the small of his back guided George to the center of the room where a round table stood. "Certainly not one to have on an empty stomach. Some healer I am, forgetting you haven't eaten yet. You must be famished."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of food made him sick. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George smiled wanly as Philza sat by the hearth, sparking a flame atop the half-burnt logs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fire illuminated the large room in a buttery film. Several maps were pinned to the walls, marked meticulously in inks of red and black. George recognized the vast mountain range depicted in slashing black. The mountain range kept everything in, both the raging heat of Summer and the blistering Winter gusts. Travelers often chose to avoid the mountainous regions, wary of the days travel it took to get past the cliffs and caverns. It surrounded the Capital like a half-ring, opening the other end of the Kingdom to the roiling seas.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mass of structures etched past the mountains had George looking away sharply. The only time he had seen the castle had been a brief moment of awe. Wrists shackled and bleeding from every square inch of skin, George had never seen anything so dreadfully beautiful. The seven towering spires of the castle haunted his memory, the last glimmer of respite before the never-ending darkness of the mines. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A bowl slid under his nose, curls of steam rising to heat his face.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Eat up." Philza took a seat at the table. He had no bowl before him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The achingly familiar scent of hot cream and butter made his stomach throb. A smile cracked his lips. "Stew?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Something light for your stomach,' He explained. "Best you take advantage of it now - Fundy will have you eating feasts by midnight." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George cringed, his stomach churning at the thought. Hunks of vibrant vegetables peeked out from the creamy mixture, dotting the stew with bright orange and green. While not a meal worthy of a King, to his ravenous gaze it was plenty enticing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Come on, try it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A spoonful brought tears springing to his eyes. Familiarity burst on his tongue like fireworks, ringing in his ears with whispers of lullabies long forgotten.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rubbed his eyes, offering Phil a shaky smile. "Just like Mom's."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cobalt eyes widened briefly before Phil was ducking his head in thanks, the tips of his golden locks brushing the scratched tabletop.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You asked about the rebellion?" He cleared his throat. "While I may not know all that much about potions, history is a passion of mine."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Magical history?" George asked hopefully through a mouthful of stew. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil's lips twitched. "Oh, where to start?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"After the villages were seized," George suggested and Phil nodded thoughtfully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I was sheltered for most of the attacks, having fled once I heard news that the soldiers were advancing. They struck the North-most villages first then stopped in the South by the borderlands. Even then, they got to the mushroom lands before the Southern forces stopped them. Despite their efforts, the damage had been dealt. No square of land was left whole, no family full. Those who supported magic - the clerics, scholars, librarians, sorcerors- all were burned or taken. The half-bloods were killed, no questions asked." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>clerics, librarians</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His heart was paper-thin, shredded into nothingness. His mother's painted lips of ruby red, his father's spectacled gaze - George shoved the thoughts away. For another day, he resolved. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Half-bloods, they're those like Techno, right? Sapnap too?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza's eyes were stormy as he nodded. "A being with human blood and 'mob' blood, yes."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mobs, that's what the King calls them?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once a term reserved for the dangerous creatures that lurked in caverns and pockets of darkness, the King had twisted the term into salt. There were little to no half-bloods in the mines. Those few that made it past the gallows to the caverns didn't stay alive for long. They were in the company of humans, those taught their losses were at the hands of those with magic blood. In darkness and haze, it was easier to turn on each other than one might think.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed. Sapnap likely has blaze blood in him - or at least something of the sort judging by the gifts he holds. Witches, wizards, sirens, pixies, and spirits - some of them vengeful, mind you - piglins," He added quietly. "All examples of half-bloods. All hunted viciously by the King."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Did the attacks ever stop?" Every year, without fail, the mines received new groups of workers, rural villagers stolen from their lives of peace to work in darkness. George hadn't seen any with magic, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, but those who were executed decreased as the years went on. People got smarter. They got scared. All those with magic either cut ties with society or fled to safe-havens. Places like this." Phil stood, the feathers on his wings prickling. "We formed the rebellion under Techno's ideas. A rag-tag group of both humans and half-bloods, people who offered protection from the King. We've grown in size since our start, gaining allies in the South."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Allies in the South… George knew the country was split apart by the North and South, separated by thousands of miles of land and densely packed forests. The Northern King's rule was one of bloodshed and terror, an iron grip keeping every person in line. From what little he heard of the South, it welcomed those with magic - to an extent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"PHIL!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George jolted at the drawn-out howl. His spoon clattered noisily against the table. Someone was torturing a banshee outside the treehouse, the creature's voice pitchy and incessant. Upon glancing at Phil, he found the man was chuckling, shaking his head in thinly veiled exasperation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That would be my youngest." In a sweep of green, Phil stepped to the back of the room, flinging open a set of doors almost concealed by curling vines. "Finish the stew, alright? Feel free to look around - best to get yourself acquainted with the lay of the land." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George hurried up to follow Philza as he stepped out onto a wide, circular platform. The wooden railing stopped halfway around the deck, which opened up to the brightening sky. The sunrise had passed, leaving mounds of white cotton floating above them in a sea of tranquil blue. The sun illuminated the deck in brilliant light and George watched through squinted eyes as Philza strode to the edge of the platform. His wings fanned open behind him, arching towards the sun in a breathtaking display. George realized he had never asked Philza what kind of half-blood he was. Looking at the man before him, he wondered if he even was one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's good to have you here, George." Philza's smile was radiant as he reached out to ruffle his hair. "You'll fit right in."  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that, he dove off the platform. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing George did was pry open the windows, wincing at the clouds of dust floating through the treehouse. If he was to work in the space for the rest of his stay, he would have to make it habitable. There was little he could do in his current state - his wrists ached with every move he made - but Phil had encouraged him to get familiar with the home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bowl of stew lay cold on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He attacked the books, dragging over every carefully written word on the ink-stained parchments. Phil had many medicinal journals, daunting books as thick as his head, further confirming the man's experience. Though the shelves were stocked high with bottled powders and jars filled with questionable ingredients, he could find no recipe books in the bookshelves. Phil hadn't been lying about the lost knowledge. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes trailed back to the set of oak drawers fit snug against the side of the counter and a promising feeling ballooned in his chest. If there wasn't a rulebook to follow, he'd make his own. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mines had made his body weak, but his hands held memories etched into muscle and bone. He may not be a half-blood filled with magical inheritance, but potion work ran in his blood. Sifting through piles of books, he dug out an untouched notebook. It would serve him nicely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I heard there was a special place-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped in his tracks, a chill running through him. The gentle notes of music filtered in from somewhere outside and a brassy voice joined the melodic chords. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where men could go," The voice continued and the notebook slipped from his hands. "And emancipate-" Their voice was honeysuckle and daisy, impossibly intriguing and hauntingly beautiful. He was moving like a puppet on strings before he knew it, dragged out to the circular platform.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, where the emerald leaves of the tree painted diamond-shaped shadows across his face, the cicadas chirped high in the branches, accompanying the singer with their mirthful call. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The brutality, and the tyranny of their ruler." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A wave of shivers ran through him. George's neck craned high into the branches, searching for the source of the captivating voice. The song sunk into his skin like sunshine, warming him to the core. It was familiar, hauntingly so, and yet George was sure he had never heard it before in his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello there." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up sharply. Nestled in the shade of the leaves was a boy, strumming a fine guitar. Glossy and tuned to perfection, it was an instrument of true quality. The guitar belonged in the Capital, plucked by a court jester or serenader of the King. And yet it looked so right in the boy's hands, hidden high in the dark oak tree.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was unfairly pretty, wild brown hair brushing over his dark eyes. A smattering of freckles dusted his strong nose and smooth cheeks, giving the boy a youthful charm. Even curled against the tree, it was clear he was tall and lithe.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Who might you be?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though his face was beguiling, his voice stole George's breath away. Deep and roiling, it resembled the crash of ocean waves against salt rocks, a wave of a million jeweled flecks splashing against his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I- I'm new here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy hummed, a couple of notes slipping from his brass throat. "Hi, 'new here'. I'm Wilbur." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My name is George."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur strapped his guitar to his back, hooking his legs behind a branch and swinging down until he was hanging upside down in front of him. A smirk curled up his lips despite the way his cheeks grew rosy with blood. "You're an interesting one. Did you like my song? I wrote it myself, you know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George nodded, his tongue lead in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's unfinished, though," Wilbur mused, humming the tune as he swung back and forth on the branch. His eyes flashed like a kaleidoscope, fluttering through the rainbow as he sang with the rustle of the leaves. "I'm waiting for the ending." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stared transfixed at his shifting eyes as he sang the verse once more. Time seemed to slow as the chirp of rustling branches filtered into his head, accompanying the dulcet tones of his voice. The tree wept diamond-shaped leaves upon them, brushing against George's skin like twining snakes. Wilbur hung upside down, his fingers dancing upon trembling string as if he were made to play.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wil!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped short, his song cut off like the shattering of glass. George looked away sharply as Wilbur dropped down from the tree branch, sending a torrent of leaves tumbling down between them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What the hell was that? Heat prickled at his neck as he stared at Wilbur. The boy's eyes were ochre brown, the color set in the earthy undertone. He couldn't have imagined that - his heart still whirred in his chest. His brain had been sludge, his fingers numb under the siren call of Wilbur's voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Seems like Phil needs me." Wilbur's eyes ran down George's form before he gave a small salute. "I'll see you soon, George."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He left, taking his melodic voice with him, leaving George slightly lost without the gentle strum of strings in the fresh morning air. The song sunk into his brain. He left the platform swiftly, shaking leaves from his hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hellooo! </p>
<p>This update was kinda late, which is great - one chapter into having a set schedule and I've already screwed with it :) We love to see it. </p>
<p>But it was easily one of my favorite chapters yet because WiLBuR! So I do hope that makes up for it.  </p>
<p>In the next chapter, we should see some more of a certain smiley blob, who is admittedly, not that smiley, but that remains the plan for now. </p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave any comments, I really love reading them - they get me through school and I really appreciate them :) I'll respond to all comments, it just might take me a while bahaha so forgive me for that. </p>
<p>see you next week! thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The man turned with a slight grin, and a chill ran down George's spine. </p>
<p>"This is what you wanted, remember?" </p>
<p>"Right." He stared at the man. Silhouetted against the sun, he looked brutish, some Grecian statue carved from clay with a knife. Despite the golden sun hanging over them, George felt no warmth in the bright morning. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Which story shall I read tonight?" The smell of clove and honey invaded George's senses as his father spoke. The lenses of his glasses flashed from where they perched atop his nose, perfectly polished. "Perhaps the one about the Nether?" </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"No! I don't like that one." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He laughed, ruffling a hand through George's hair. The blankets around him were wrapped tightly to his small form, the window open to welcome in the cool breeze. It was a perfect summer's night. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Alright, alright. We'll do the Moon tonight." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His eyes slipped shut at that, he knew what was coming. Crickets buzzed outside in the long grass, a delightful chittering beneath a stage of stars. The story began.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"There was once a woman, with silver silk hair and eyes of snow speck white, born to roam the Earth alone. Frost tickled at her cheeks, snowflakes adjoining her eyelashes. Without any warmth to comfort her, she lived a half-life, spent wallowing in the night."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew this one well. "Then what?" </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"I suppose we could skip forward. She was sitting by her stars one night when all of a sudden, a dewdrop of light rose from the Earth. With the spot of yellow came pinks, and purples, and orange, painting the night away. He was named the Sun, and he was everything the Moon was not. Warm at heart with lava for eyes and hair spun of gold, he was bright where she was tranquil. You would have thought they'd despise each other, they were so different!" George nodded. He could hear his father's smile. "Against all odds, they fell in love- the Moon with his glow, the Sun with her peace. They waited for each dawn and dusk. However, no amount of time together would sate them - they were quite enamored with each other you see. That is why when the Sun blazes high in the sky, you may occasionally spot the pearly moon lingering behind, watching him shine until they are reunited once again."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Dad," He whispered - a frail sound amid an orchestra of thoughts. "Will I ever find my Sun?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course, George." Soft hands cupped his face. They were much different from his mother's calloused palms. "They're waiting for you somewhere. You just need to look."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thundering woke George with a start, his eyes shooting open in the dim room. Outside, the sun was yet to wake, the curtains to his window open to reveal a smear of cloudless indigo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pounding resumed and George groaned, his fingers dragging into the lines of his face. It had been three days since his arrival and he had yet to manage one good night’s sleep. Upon the realization that he had nowhere to stay, Phil had secured him a house semi-secluded from the bustle of the village. He had been grateful for the haven, but with the hours spent with Phil organizing his home, the night bled into dawn all too quickly and the hours left for sleep diminished. He had been hoping to remedy that, but as it was, he had been sorely mistaken. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door flung open on its own accord and George turned his head lazily. In the doorway, shadowed in purple, stood Dream. His cloak was buttoned high up his neck, the hood pooling over his shoulders. His mask peeked out from under the hood, staring eerily into George's tired eyes. He turned away, his cheek pressed against the soft sheets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get up."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How pleasant. George hadn't spoken to the man since Techno's meeting. From what he had last heard from Phil, Techno had sent the masked man out on a mission. He had been unaware that Dream was back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George," Dream pressed. Footsteps sounded out closer. "You didn't forget did you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However much he wished he had, George had been anticipating Dream's lessons for a while. His nails dug into the sheets. When the man offered to teach him his ways of fighting at Techno's meeting, he hadn't expected such </span>
  <em>
    <span>early </span>
  </em>
  <span>lessons. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The sun isn't even up yet-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You've slept enough. Let's go." The round eyes of Dream's mask stared down at him, astonishingly judgemental for two crudely printed circles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George groaned as he sat up, his joints popping noisily. His injuries were mostly healed, what cuts he had scabbed over and well on their way to recovery. His wrists would likely never look the same, though - the shackles had marked him with thick pale strips of raised skin. Another set of scars, he thought with disdain. As if the mental reminders of his imprisonment weren't enough. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're wasting my time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He clicked his tongue sharply, pushing off the bed onto the cold floor. "Prime, I'm coming." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bringing little but a coat for the cold and a satchel filled with bandages, he staggered after Dream with little grace. His eyes burnt holes into the back of his billowing cloak. The man moved like a phantom, his boots gliding across the dirt path. With his frame completely blanketed in his cloak, George thought he looked like the Grim Reaper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They made quick time, moving through the dark village swiftly. It wasn't long until they passed the farmhouse, the cherry-red barn stark against the wooden structures of horse stables. George was surprised to see a figure tending to the animals. Karl stood by the orchard, shielded by the leaves of twisting apple trees. Did he tend to all the animals by himself? He observed as the man tossed buckets of seeds out to the livestock. No one else was around. Karl gave a cheery wave at the two as they continued on their trek, heading past the village outskirts into the forest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thick branches of dark oak trees masked the sky, keeping what little light gathered above out of the forest. The gun-shot crack of branches under his boots made George wince. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are we going?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seconds passed before Dream answered without sparing a look back at him. "You said you wanted training, right?" Something in the bushes shuffled away. "We go by my rules, then. That means I get to choose where we practice." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I would be fine with that if not for the fear you were taking me out to the woods to kill me, or perhaps conveniently lose me somewhere miles from the village."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream turned back sharply. "If I wanted you dead-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let me guess, you would have killed me long ago," George drawled, his eyes tilted up. "Maybe in the prison hmm? Would have beaten the guards to it, anyway." Dream's hands tightened into fists and George smiled. It was petty, but he couldn't stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Perhaps I should cut your tongue off instead," Dream growled. George's grin vanished. "It would save me the headache of having to converse with you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream picked up his pace and he scrambled to follow, knees aching at the incline. The trees grew sparse as they tread further and further up into the hillside. With winter melting away, the land was starting to bloom with green. Swaying tall grass brushed at his knees, the occasional honey bee buzzing by to harvest from the wildflowers dotting the land. George dragged a hand across his forehead, grimacing at the heat of his dewy skin. The state of his muscles was pitiful. His lungs rattled heavily in his chest at the exertion. The realization that he had degraded in the mines was a hard pill to swallow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Take this."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George looked up. A wooden blade hung before his eyes, the tip hanging fractions from his nose. Dream held his own makeshift blade in hand, pulled from a scabbard hidden in the folds of his cloak.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stood on a flat hill, overlooking the shroom-like heads of trees and the darkened village sprawled out below. He could see Philza's treehouse in the distance, a beacon sprouting up to the clouds. Amidst the tall grass, wildflowers dotted the hills in bright specks of color. With the morning blooming fresh before them, George thought it was a beautiful sight. The weapon he held ruined the sentiment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We start now."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sword was heavy in his trembling hands, wind-bitten knuckles pale around the wooden hilt. The blistered pads of his palms rubbed against the grain of the wood. Even with years brandishing pickaxes in the mines, his arms strained to hold it high. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sword up." Dream paced around him, his eyes trained on George's arms. "We'll practice with wooden swords for now. Prove to me your skill and we'll see about getting you a proper blade."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George grimaced. The makeshift sword seemed sturdy enough, clearly crafted by experienced hands. Eyes flicking up to Dream, he suspected he knew the craftsman.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well? What are you waiting for?" Dream stood with arms crossed, the pale face of his mask angled down at George. A spark of annoyance lit in his chest at his expectant look.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How about instructions?" The sword flailed aimlessly in George's grip as he gestured out. "Or any sort of teaching at all?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream pushed up his sleeves, revealing skin mostly unmarked. "Just think of it as a trial run."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And your weapon?" Dream held no sword, his gloved hands held out at his sides in an open invitation. George could see the long leather scabbard strapped to his hips beneath the folds of his cloak. It wasn't that he didn't have a weapon - he was choosing not to use it. The wind stung his burning cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dismissal came quick. "It'll make an appearance when it's needed." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George frowned. Dream underestimated him. A silent resolution snapped his muscles into place as he took his place across from Dream. His fingers squeezed around the hilt and he dragged the sword up, the dull blade centered across his vision. Dream beckoned him forward with two fingers and he took no more time. George flew forward with the wind at his back, shoving his legs before him. The sword fumbled in his awkward grip. Dream side-stepped his first swing with annoying ease, his lips pressed into a firm line of concentration. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Focus," He warned and George swung the blade down, ignoring the slight smile Dream's lips held. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The attack missed once more and he stumbled forward, almost knocking into Dream. The man stepped back smoothly, creating an ocean's distance between the two of them. A sharp flare of pain struck George's shoulder as he pivoted sharply, dragging the blade through the air. Dream evaded every move faster than the last, stepping back into wave after wave of tall grass. George balked. The man was faster than he should be, knowing his immense height and build. Perhaps he had been the one underestimating. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They went at it again, Dream's practiced steps evading every rabid swing of George's sword. In some strange sense, swordplay was a dance. Dream turned and whirled, ducking below his sword and spinning circles around him with his skill. The wind jostled George to and fro, teasing his poor sense of balance. Dream was smirking, the cold expression sending burning frustration through George. He was dancing the waltz, and George knew none of the steps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Alright," Dream drew an identical sword from his scabbard, flipping it in his calloused hand. "It's time we get serious." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A huffed bark of laughter was barely kept bottled up in his chest as George stared at the man incredulously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Body squared in a defensive position, Dream grinned. "What? You're not scared are you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut up." George shook his head, his sword already swinging down to the smile of Dream's mask. In a flash of green, Dream was turning. The clash of swords clapped like thunder, reverberating through his fingers and his arms. Dream pushed the blade forward, leaning his weight into the sword as it scraped against George's. He was stronger, evident by the creaking of George's sword as he struggled to push Dream's weapon back. He stepped back quickly, the space opening between them like a ravine cracking the Earth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Within seconds, they were surging forward once more. Though his legs were still weary from the climb and his eyes stung with the whip of the wind, he forced himself to move. Though Dream may be stronger, he was far from capable of George's speed. There was something to be grateful for in his skeletal frame - however light on his feet Dream was, George was faster. Another shattering blow struck against his blade as Dream countered his attack, his parry brought down with brute force. Like an executioner's axe, the sword bit into his muscle ruthlessly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hold your blade securely." Dream spoke as he turned, the polished grain of his blade glimmering under the rising sun. "No, higher than that." George glanced up with furrowed brows. Dream was painted in a tangerine glow, highlighting the sheen of his face and the lift of his lips. He stared at the man, a strange feeling overcoming him as he tracked over his form. He was enjoying this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George." He snapped back into the present. Dream was grinning at him, the smirk holding something darker than amusement. "Don't lose focus." The masked man twisted his weapon and George moved on instinct, his arm shooting up like a viper. Dull wood slammed against bone and George gasped as white-hot pain erupted up his shoulder and down his spine. Without hesitation, Dream caught his vulnerable blade in a bone-shattering blow, sending the weapon skittering away into the wisps of tall grass. The fight was over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Winded and aching from Dream's final attack, George unlocked his knees, welcoming the rush of dizziness that struck him. He fell back into the meadow, cushioned by the sea of grass beneath him. The day had finally broken over the lands. Now peppered with clouds hanging against a backdrop of icy blue, the sky was lit with the golden marble of the sun. His eyes scanned the heavens. There was no lingering moon in sight. The grass tickled his cheeks as it swayed with the wind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hours had slipped by undetected under the day's fleeting pace. Pains echoed through his weary body like ripples through a lake, yet George knew after each bone-shattering blow, the lessons sunk in deeper. With each minute that passed, his hands loosened on the sword, his feet balanced perfectly on the soft dirt. For every hit Dream dealt, he sprung back faster.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A moon of white blocked out the sun's welcome rays, a tiresome smiling face staring down at him. George frowned at Dream, feeling a spark of irritation light in his chest. Dream's hood fluttered in the wind, flapping back to reveal locks of light sandy brown falling over the rim of the mask. Beneath the milky white of his mask, his taut lips taunted him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're going to have to be better than that, George." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed. Dream appeared unamused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not being mean," The pale face of his mask dipped back, retreating past the curve of George's vision. "I'm being realistic."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George couldn't help but bite back, "Realistic my ass."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Much to his surprise, Dream laughed. It was more of a harsh huff of amused breath than a laugh, but it rang clear like a bell in the dewy meadow. He grinned despite himself. He thought the man to be stone cold. Hearing him laugh was… different. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream flicked out his sword, and George propped himself up in the bed of grass, cocking his head. The man turned with a slight grin, and a chill ran down his spine. The bark of laughter echoed in his head, not as much of a friendly sound anymore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This is what you wanted, remember?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Right." He stared at the man. Silhouetted against the sun, he looked brutish, some Grecian statue carved from clay with a knife. Despite the golden sun hanging over them, George felt no warmth in the bright morning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get up. We're going again."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned but picked himself up regardless. His wrists ached and his fingers ran delicately over the cruel scars branching across his pale skin. If he were to improve, he would deal with the pain. Finding his sword laying nearby, he swiped it up into a ready stance. Dream gave him a nod, raising his sword high. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They exchanged a moment as the wind whistled a ghostly tune through the hillside. Then, George pounced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Prime's sake, what an absolute-" George groaned as Philza tugged on his bandages, his words dying in his throat. Probably for the best, he thought as the unheard curses rolled around his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza patted his back as he tied up the white linen, securing the wrap around shoulders. His entire body wailed. Every inch of muscle and skin was pulled tight - too tight to bear, and George exhaled shakily as he rose from the table. He was starting to put on some weight, Phil had told him with a smile. His skin, once translucent and papery, was beginning to gain color, evidence from Dream's heavy training under the morning rays.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"All good?" Phil grinned, his striking cobalt eyes sparkling as he stored the rolls of bandages away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wincing at a twinge in his shoulder, George stumbled through the treehouse, clearing space on the desk for his work. Aches haunted muscles he didn't even know existed as he turned to Phil with a sharp stare. "He's a brute, you know? Knocks me down five times and expects me to win round six. Wish I could knock some sense into him." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Philza laughs, bright and high at that, but George can see the reprimanding turn of his lips. He senses the speech before it comes. "You should cut him some slack, you know? He didn't have to volunteer to teach you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," He sighed, eyes trailing over the wooden shelves spiraling high above him. His neck aches and he can't help but grumble, "He could be nicer about it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm afraid that might be a luxury we can't afford at the moment." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was something darker about those words. George's gaze landed on the winged man, trailing over the dark rings under his eyes and the weary bend of his back. He was suddenly reminded of the task at hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Technoblade's meetings had only grown more frequent in the past week, stealing Phil away from their lessons. Phil was not the only one busy nowadays. Dream had missed their last practice due to an assignment from the leader. That day, George had been unable to sleep in, having woken up before the sun in anticipation of a fight. Unbeknownst to him, Dream had become somewhat of an alarm clock for him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How are your experiments going?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George looked up at Phil. The man was bathed in the sunlight streaming in from the open windows, eyes shaded by his brimmed hat. The windows were always open these days. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They've yet to prove promising." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While Dream was off on solo missions by Techno's command, George was holed up in the treehouse with the expectation to perfect his potions. It was his main responsibility, Techno told him in the one meeting he was permitted to attend. Brew the potions, make the remedies, perfect them all and prove his worth. If only it were that easy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the week that he had been at the Camp, he had filled out a notebook entirely with the results of fruitless experiments. He'd only managed to make weak potions, much like the ones he had brewed in the King's caverns. The effects weren't long-lasting and while sufficient to an extent, they held infinite more untapped potential than what he had created with his mother's aid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged a bucket of water to the cauldron, tipping it in with weary arms. Today he would try to fashion a brew from the fish Phil had brought back from a village trip. The bulbous body of the yellow pufferfish was soft beneath his gloved hands, its dull eyes glaring at him in an accusatory manner. Thankful for the fresh breeze sweeping in, George set to work lighting a flame in the cauldron. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't overwork yourself," Phil called from the doorway, raising a hand in goodbye. George nodded, the empty gesture missed as Phil stepped outside to the platform. Abandoning the heating cauldron, he leaned out the window. George watched him go, shooting off to the skies in a flurry of feathers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rolling up his sleeves, he turned back to the limp fish and pursed his lips. Time to get to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so Dream's boot camp begins - as does the UST </p>
<p>Ugh, school this week was such a pain, so most of this chapter was written whilst ignoring schoolwork- never a good idea, but a fun time for sure. Luckily, I'm on Spring break rn so I should have more time to write! If you're liking this so far I'd recommend subscribing just in case I abandon all sense of a schedule and just post whenever I get chapters out </p>
<p>Thank you for all the support on this fic!! All the comments are so positive and the hiTs oH GOd - I appreciate it so much! </p>
<p>As always, let me know what you thought :) &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His eyes fell to the glass of liquid amber under his nose. Breathing in the strong scent of cinnamon, he let the heady scent cloud his mind. He had never had friends. He didn’t count those in the mines. They shared more pain than love and it showed. But sitting in the warmth of the tavern, watching as Wilbur re-enacted a lively story from his youth, George felt a smile growing on his face. </p>
<p>These people were like him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bottles clinked together. The smell of smoke was thick, a cauldron bubbling under the glow of a lantern. Night had fallen hours ago, the swirling sky littered with specks of salt. Pages fluttered and rasped under the harsh scratch of his pen, fueled by a force of trembling determination. George stepped back to swipe a row of glass bottles. His back ached from being curved over the rim of the cauldron, hands swinging low to stir the contents. The clasps of the bottles popped open, carefully harvesting the potion from the cooling black innards of the pot. Still steaming, the brew was a shifting blue liquid, dark as the ocean waves. Water breathing. Something his mother never felt the need to make, yet taught him anyway. </span>

The liquid shifted tones from azure to indigo in his hand, the glass warm under his palm. 
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it looked exactly as it should, George couldn't stop the consuming thought that something was missing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not planning on working all night are you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He jerked, clutching the bottle to his chest at the unexpected voice. Whirling around, he caught sight of a dark coat pulled over a proper dress shirt. Dark eyes glinted at him from under curly locks, devilish with secretive intent. Though he was missing his guitar, Wilbur looked picturesque. He pulled himself up from the trapdoor, brushing off invisible dust from his coat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Call me Will, it's easier."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring his smirk, George turned, unlocking his steel grip on the glass bottle. "What are you doing here, Wilbur?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seemingly undeterred, Wilbur stepped closer, peering into the cauldron. He towered over George in height, making the sharpness of his dark eyes that much more piercing. George frowned at the scrutiny of his stare, swiping away the bottles of water breathing. Stowing them in a nearby shelf, he aimed a careful look back at Wilbur. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man had taken a spot atop one of the countertops, managing to find space amongst the chaos that littered the surface. It had been a couple of days since he had seen Wilbur, which didn't come as a great surprise. Their paths didn't cross often, what with Wilbur hanging around Techno and Tommy and George hiding away in the treehouse. That didn't mean he hadn't heard him. The wind carried sweet songs through the village, delicate to the ear, and George often heard the notes trickling down from the tall branches of a tree or by the village center. However, time was strict and the music was usually too fleeting to properly enjoy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I have work to do," George told him curtly, sending a pointed look to the trapdoor.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Come down to the tavern with me," Wilbur stretched languidly, his arms brushing against a stack of precariously balanced books. George hurried to steady the pile, ignoring the brush of Wilbur's knee against his side. "Most everyone is gathered there. We're all waiting for you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. Though the cauldron's embers had long since curled into smoke, his night was far from over. The potions still needed testing - though the idea of swimming in the river so late in the night had his skin chilling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Techno expects certain things-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He'll get over it." The dismissal was immediate and George shot a glare at Wilbur. He was met with a wide grin. "Come on, Gogy," His ochre eyes glimmered, ignoring George's look. "There will be plenty more nights for holing yourself up, old man. You're as bad as Phil at this point." He paused, taking his chin in one hand in mock-thought before setting a burning gaze on him. "No, I take it back. At least Phil takes breaks."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've taken too many," He sighed. The potion bottles stood out on the counter before him, strewn about like lapis soldiers. "I've made no progress at all on these!" His fingers gripped the countertop, his knuckles painfully pale. "If I can't fulfill my only purpose for being here, what do you think is going to happen to me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence was deafening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he turned to Wilbur. His lips, once stretched high in a jaunty smile, were pulled low. The sight caught George off guard and he turned back to the wood grain of the counter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you think we're going to do to you?" The question came in a short whisper and George sucked in a breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George, we're not tyrants. Do you really think we'd…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. He didn't need to. George's wrists burned, the fire wrapping up his skin, making his cheeks bloom with shameful heat. He was an idiot. To insult Wilbur and the others in their village - the village he had taken refuge in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand circled around his wrist. The flames died, snuffed out by the pads of cool fingertips held gently against his ruined skin. Wilbur looked down at him, a careful smile etched on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's go," He whispered. "Come on, I think we've both had enough of this mood." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George couldn't bring himself to argue. Relenting, he set down the glass bottle. He had forgotten it was nestled in his hand. How it hadn't fractured in his grip, he didn't know. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to the tavern was quick, Wilbur filling the empty air with tales of drunken nights and half-warnings for George.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Built near the center of the village, the tavern was well-lit with iron lanterns strung up both outside and inside the homey structure. Stepping in, George was greeted with a warm orange glow, painting everything in honey. There were maps strung up on the walls, along with the skeletal heads of great elk and boars, staring down at him with hollow eyes. The fiery scent of whiskey and spirits clouded his mind, making his eyes water. The prospect of drinking alcohol, though revered by the older slaves in the mines, was a foreign concept to George. Looking at the villagers half-lucid around him, he wondered with distaste why anyone would drink. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur led him past the round tables to a group in the corner. They were easily the loudest in the whole tavern, made up of many familiar faces. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur!" Fundy crowed and the table erupted in greetings. His gaze settled upon the group, scouring over the members. Beside Fundy sat Niki and the sheep half-blood from Techno's first meeting. Ocean eyes glinted at him as she nodded in greeting. Her cherry red coat was absent from her shoulders, draped instead over Niki's frame. Both held each other, red-faced and smiling as they talked hushedly amongst themselves. In similar shape, a very cheery Karl clung to Sapnap's dark cloak, his face pressed into the fabric as he slurred, telling the man a story through a brilliant grin. George smiled at the sight. Sapnap raised a friendly hand, Karl still hanging off of him, and in that moment, it was hard to remember he was the one who had tackled him to the ground his first day at the camp.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last one present was one of the other men from the meeting - the fearsome man with coal-black skin and fingers carved from rock. His hood was pulled off, revealing a youthful face speckled with dark gray flecks. Horns peeked out from his dark hair, drawing George's eyes away from his smiling face. He didn’t appear to be a half-blood, but George wasn't sure of what else he could possibly be. His face held virtues of the fire realm, his eyes as white as quartz, long eyelashes brushing against his speckled cheeks. Despite it all, there was something terribly disarming about that angelic smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn't help but notice a certain person was absent from the table, a small grin lifting his spirits at the realization. Dream didn't strike him as the type to drink this late anyways, meaning there was little chance he'd show up. Good, he decided. If this were to be a night of drinking and fun, he would be much freer without his tormentor present. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wasted already, are we lads?" Wilbur laughed heartily, dragging a seat to the table for George. "I'm sure you've all been acquainted?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not officially," The sheep half-blood spoke, her voice brassy and bold, much like Sapnap's. "Made quite the impression on Techno, though."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nibbled on his lip at the thought, fingers twitching for the feel of glass. Techno's crimson gaze bored into his brain. His words rang in his ears. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A hand slipped over his shoulder, grounding him in sudden warmth. Heat sparked in his stomach and he turned quickly, catching Wilbur's careful gaze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This is Puffy," He motioned at the sheep hybrid, who cocked her fingers to him sharply. George nodded, gave a half-hearted wave, and felt stupid for it immediately after. "And Bad." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The horned man waved back, a brilliant smile splitting that inky skin. He didn't think that smile could get wider.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could dwell on it for long, a hushed voice rose from the opposite end of the table. "You're going to help us bring that imbecile down, aren't you?" Fundy stared at him, gold eyes blazing bright under his orange locks. "The King," He clarified, and George's blood froze in his veins. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shadows grew longer, closing in on him. To speak so brashly about the King - it was unheard of. Especially in lands where soldiers lay hidden in every crevice of the kingdom, waiting for any excuse to bring out their coiling chains. His lungs lost air in a rush of panic and he looked around quickly, forgetting for a second where he was.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A melodic call slipped into his ears, crushing the visions of snaking metal. "You're safe here." Wilbur placed his elbows on the table, leaning over the wood with a biting smile. "We are all glorious dissenters," He laughed, but it was somewhat of a pained sound. Fundy cracked a grin and Puffy nodded, but the group squeezed in closer. Sapnap gathered Karl tighter in his arms.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They all had reason to be afraid of the King. He looked at Fundy. To be hateful, even. His own reasons were written over his skin, years of shame sunken into his bones, spelling out a story. His story. Niki, Puffy, Bad, Karl, Fundy, Sapnap, Wilbur - they had all seen his. They didn't need to ask to know his trials. In return, he was clueless about theirs.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Go on." Wilbur was staring at him, eyes bright and knowing. "I know you want to."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stopped, his heart thundering against his ribs. How Wilbur could read him so easily was beyond him. He didn't dare look at the others, keeping his darting gaze on the swirling grain of the table. "What-" His mouth was horribly dry, tongue leaden in his throat. "What is your story?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not quite as charming as the rest of me." His smile was impossibly sad. "I'm sure you've realized by now singing isn't just a hobby of mine." Wilbur hummed, his hands cupping his face. With the stray notes, his eyes flashed in the dimly lit tavern, a fractured rush of kaleidoscopic colors. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George sucked in a breath. "You're a half-blood."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Most of us are," Wilbur exchanged a knowing glance with the group. "The world doesn't take kindly to our type. Those with </span>
  <em>
    <span>power</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The King made sure of that." George's gaze flicked down to Wilbur's hands, which rolled into tight fists. "My father disowned me when I was a boy. He couldn't take having a bastard son of a siren, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>liar</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A charmer. Threatened to cut out my throat if I didn't leave town." Niki's hand stretched across the table, curling around Wilbur's. He gave her a tight-lipped grin. "Phil found me in the forest near the village, starved half-dead. Took me in, gave me a home. Gave me a family." He cleared his throat roughly, pulled from the depths his own mind. "And I found myself here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank god for that," Fundy grinned and Wilbur scoffed. There was a playful comradery between the two. Something built on earned respect.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Whose turn is it now?" Wilbur raised his voice, glass held high to the lanterns above. "Might as well air out the troubles again, hmm? It's been a while since we let the ghosts out to play."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There's not much to say for me," Fundy shrugged, reaching a hand into his hair. His fingers tugged on the fluffy end of his ear. "People don't like differences." He flashed a grin and George gaped at his sharp canines. His eyes sparkled with amusement, but his pointed nails dug into the thick material of his coat, saying much more than any words could.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George nodded. With nothing more to do or say, he lifted the glass to his lips. The smooth liquid hit the back of his throat and he choked, the unbearable taste of cinnamon burning his nose. His eyes watered and he coughed roughly, immediately setting the glass down. Fundy guffawed, loud, and brash as Sapnap teased him. George buried his face in his hands, skin smoking against cold hands. The liquid in the glass was cold, yet it burned his tongue and sent fire blazing down his throat.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do not worry," Niki spoke softly with a smile, her accented lilt lifting George's teary gaze from the table. "I had the same reaction the first time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her bluebell eyes shone like dewdrops, reflecting the tangerine lights of the tavern. Looking at her now, he was shocked at how young she looked, barely past the later years of gleeful adolescence. With her soft looks and sweet smile, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing in the camp of rebels. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Puffy slid a drink over to her and George didn’t miss the calloused pads of her fingers, rough despite how smooth her pale skin was. Perhaps there was more to the girl than he first realized. Niki caught his eyes with a quizzical smile and he looked away, suddenly admonished for his blatant stare. She didn’t seem to mind, however, taking a small sip from her glass as he fumbled for words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You've done this a lot, huh,” George rasped, coughing the gravely sound away. "Does it get any better?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It does.” She took another swig, bolder this time, and George watched as her eyes crinkled with regret. He would have grinned, if not for the way her smile wavered as she said, “It always does.” Those dewy eyes held more than the haze of alcohol. Puffy reached over, a hand sliding causally to grip onto Niki’s. They exchanged careful smiles before returning to the conversation, chiming into whatever rant Wilbur had begun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes fell to the glass of liquid amber under his nose. Breathing in the strong scent of cinnamon, he let the heady scent cloud his mind. He had never had friends. He didn’t count those in the mines. They shared more pain than love and it showed. But sitting in the warmth of the tavern, watching as Wilbur re-enacted a lively story from his youth, George felt a smile growing on his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>These people were like him. It was a stark realization.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone at the table was fractured. Damaged, even. Some of it was physical, George thought as he stared down at his own hands. Some of it not. Even then, when the deck was stacked against them and there should be no reason for their joy, they crafted happiness out of words and… alcohol. The thought made him laugh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur paused in his ravings, setting a bemused look on George. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He was grinning now, the smile splitting his face wide. It felt weird, unnatural. But somehow, it also felt good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should do that more often.” Wilbur decided with an air of finality. “Laugh, I mean.” He waved a hand in the air and George watched his fingers swirl through the air like a tumbling leaf. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I will,” George settled on, bringing the glass beneath him to his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur’s smile made the terrible burn of the drink tolerable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From then onwards, it was Karl's loud laughter, Sapnap and Wilbur's wild stories, Niki and Bad's bubbly comments and Puffy's drunken thoughts let loose to be judged and revered by all. George was sure most of the tavern’s customers despised them for their boisterous yelling, but the delicious haze of cinnamon and spirits stole the crimson from his cheeks. Peals of high-flying laughter rubbed his throat raw and countless grins made his cheeks ache. The pain was addictive. He wasn’t quite sure how many hours had passed, but when Bad announced he was retiring for the night, their group was the last inhabitants of the bar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll regret it,” Wilbur slurred through yet another glass of alcohol. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bad looked to the ceiling, a strange sight as the entirety of his eyes were white. “Speak for yourself, Wilbur. Make sure he gets home alright, you guys. Karl too," He added, ruffling Karl's messy locks as he stood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Puffy gave him a hearty salute, and then he was gone, just a smear of black and red melting into the ink spill that was the outside world. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He doesn’t get out of the smithy too much,” Wilbur had his head in his hands, looking up at George with bored eyes. “I’m glad he stayed for as long as he did tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a people person?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head in a mess of curls. “That’s not it - I’d reckon Bad’s the friendliest person you’ll ever meet. He’s not been the same since-“ He sighed low, dragging a hand down his face. “His lover’s gone, you see.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, his elbows knocking against the table. “Forever?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, no, no," He laughed, jostling George roughly with his shoulder. "He's gone to infiltrate the castle," He slurred heavily, finishing off his drink. He pushed the empty glass to Sapnap with a pleading smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man groaned and got up, heading to the bar for more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He's been gone some months now. Bad misses him quite a lot. Hasn’t been like he was when Skeppy was here.” Wilbur turned abruptly to talk with Fundy, leaving George with too many thoughts and an empty glass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It hadn’t occurred to them that the rebellion might have spies in the castle. He turned a scrutinizing gaze to Wilbur. He hoped the man wasn’t always so loose with his words - it was a wonder he hadn’t burst into song and entranced half the group by now. But a spy in the castle… George thought of the possibilities. The dangers. He hadn’t thought much of the rebellion when first introduced to Techno, but the intricacies of the organization went further than he could ever have thought. Allies in the South and now infiltrating the King’s domain - what might come next, he wondered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fundy,” Wilbur trilled, pointing an accusatory finger at the other half-blood. The call brought George out from his trance and he tuned back into the discussion. Niki and Puffy were looking on with wide smiles as Wilbur squinted at the fox half-blood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy was propped up against one of the walls, a very drunk Karl leaning into him, half lucid. It was no wonder Sapnap had cut him off early in the night. Karl was so far gone, basically asleep at this point. Looking at his empty glass, still held around curled fingers, George was surprised they hadn’t done the same for him. Wilbur had insisted a man’s first drink must be followed by his second. Then his third. Then the fourth and however many would come after one stopped counting. Feeling the blissful haze of alcohol blur his vision, George wondered if he had overdone it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let Sapnap catch you.” Wilbur winked at Fundy, noticing how the hairs on his arms bristled. “Might lose a finger or two.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing the warning, Fundy’s eyes grew wide and he promptly shoved Karl away, making the smaller groan. Sapnap returned shortly, and under the promise that he wouldn’t burn a hysterical Fundy’s fingers off, handed everyone a glass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur raised his high above them, leaning over the table with a wolfish grin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A toast," He smirked, his eyes flaring with addictive heat. "To the wretched."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Cheers," George murmured, his lips curving up against the glass as he tipped the rest of it down his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! Thanks for getting this far!</p>
<p>This chapter was probably my favorite to write so far for so many reasons bahaha<br/>The support for this has been so awesome - we're almost at 200 kudos and just WhAT that's crazy ahhhHHH<br/>Thank you for all the lovely comments! I appreciate them so much, they've become my fuel lmfao </p>
<p>Expect chapter 8 next week - probably Saturday morning JST </p>
<p>For now, let me know what you thought :) &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I wasn't always working for Techno, you know? Everyone has a beginning somewhere." </p>
<p>He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but looking at Dream's bent form, he asked anyways. "Where was yours?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The battlefields." </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: violence, flashbacks, disassociation <br/>Please be mindful if you are sensitive to these themes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hollow clash of wood made him wince, sending George stumbling back on heavy legs. The evening air was dry, the sky a smear of fuchsia spattered with petal-shaped clouds. The pleasant atmosphere of the dusky hillside was little comfort to the boy. George's sword dipped, his free hand coming up to twist into his matted hair. His head pounded with vigor, his tongue prickling with the ghostly taste of cinnamon. Last night had been a mistake. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after getting back to his room, woken up abruptly by Dream at the crack of dawn no three hours later. He felt terrible and surely looked it too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shouldn't have drunk so much, hmm?" Dream's leather boots came into view beneath his trembling knees, kicking up small clouds of loose dirt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been over a week since his arrival to the camp, and while he was still considerably out of shape, he was improving. Earlier mornings, longer hours of training, grueling evenings spent working with Philza -  they all contributed to the muscle he was building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sod off," George groaned at the man. It didn’t mean he liked their training. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his temples, setting him off-kilter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream laughed, flicking his sword up into ready position- the only indication he got that they were going again. With little time for preparation, Dream shot forward. His arm swung for George's legs but he was already moving, throwing himself past the curve of the blade. Springing up, he flicked out his weapon. The wood was warm beneath his fingers. Dream circled him slowly, boots springy against blades of slick grass.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky was a mottled bruise above.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sapnap told me about it, you know? About what a mess you were last night." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George clenched his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"At least I was there. Boohoo, poor little Dream didn't get </span>
  <em>
    <span>invited</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He sang under his breath, catching Dream's grip tighten on his sword handle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man paused before shaking his head, an infuriating smile etched onto those lips. The silence was eerie. He edged away and Dream followed, stalking him through the grass that brushed against his hips. The game went on for several minutes, a silent prowl through the meadow, a terse moment to breathe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stared at the man in front of him, watching as Dream flexed his fingers around the sword. Even in his miserable state, he could see Dream was off today. His steps were heavier, his chest fluttering faster than usual. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped back, raising his voice over the fleeting gale running along the mountains. “Where have you been, anyway?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap hadn't known either, chalking it off to another one of Techno's missions. George had yet to figure out what exactly Techno was sending them out to get. From the start, he assumed it was something physical, some sort of treasure or material to be used in the rebellion. But as the days of waiting for the horses and their riders to appear in the stables stretched on, George was beginning to think it was something more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream jabbed at him with the sword, lips twisting as George caught his blade precariously. Wood scraped against wood in a splintering crash. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Focus." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored him, his sword hand dangling before him lazily. "I knew Techno was intense, but do you even sleep?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George," Dream warned, his sword blurring through the air. George caught it hard on the edge of his blade, grimacing at the force of the impact. The weight was gone in a flash as Dream pulled back, looking for free hits. He was on the offensive, moving with a viper's speed. Swinging his sword up, he hoped to catch the man off guard, but the wish was put down almost instantly as Dream deflected the hit with terrifying ease. His arm trembled. His head spun. Dream wasn't playing around.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You better make use of this time." He drawled, almost tiredly. The pale face of his mask looked to the sky, a patchwork of purples blanketing the forest. He was checking for the sunset, George thought, one hand rubbing at his aching wrist. Now, why would he suddenly be so cautious of the time- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>have another secret mission-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They're not </span>
  <em>
    <span>missions</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Dream snapped, his lips pulled taught. "They're tasks and </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I have another one tomorrow. Early. So start taking this seriously."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned but kept his mouth screwed shut. He'd never admit it, but Dream had a point. A tremor ran down his arm as he blocked a swift hit, muscles pulled taught. Though he hated the man’s methods, he couldn’t deny they were working. He was hitting harder, moving faster. After many routine days of the excruciating climb up the hillside followed by hours of training, he was getting better. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stronger</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was a slippery slope, though. Some days his muscles bound like chain under steel skin. Other days - <em>this </em>day - he was glass. One slash away from shattering. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes tracked Dream’s every move, watching as he raised the sword an inch higher. His arms glistened under the faint rays of sunlight, his lips screwed in concentration. Dream was dressed in less fabric today, shedding the heavy cloak in favor of a thinner shawl pinned high up his neck. Loose ends of the fabric trailed down the front of his dark shirt. Though his mask remained stubbornly tied around his face, his arms were bare to the cool air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A brunt force slammed into his stomach and George gasped, the air rushing out from his throat painfully. His fingers felt electrified, slippery, and loose on the handle of his sword. Sourly, he knew, however much he had improved, Dream was leaps and bounds ahead of him in skill. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come on,” Dream scoffed. He flicked his wrist sharply and the sword snapped the air apart. “I know you can do better than this.” George seethed, his hand soft against his throbbing stomach. How dare he have the nerve to sound disappointed under the layers of hot scorn. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His lips twisted together, almost as if they knew what would happen next. But no matter how hard he grit his teeth, there was no hope in keeping his words chained to his throat. He spat, fast and molten like a lash. “You don’t know a thing about me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream fell silent, caught off guard by the bite. A beat passed before he was knocking his sword into position, squaring his shoulders. “I know you’re not trying.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh piss off,” George growled, magma burning his tongue. His heart thundered in his temples, a sourness rearing its head in his chest. Dream stared cooly at him, and before he knew it, George was lunging forward with the blade heavy in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream was on him instantly, dancing to a familiar tune as the breeze whipped grass into their knees. The heavy clashes of carved wood set an erratic tempo, a chaotic beat to the fight. Twilight slipped into the sky, too fleeting under the course of their sparring to properly enjoy. His heart was lodged in his throat, pounding away as he parried Dream’s blows. His eyes were narrowed, cautious, and aware of every move the other made. Dream, silhouetted by the purple haze behind him, stared on at George, inviting him forward. And he realized with a jolt that Dream was smiling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was not a smile of mockery, not one of prejudice or hatred or annoyance. It was the kind of smile that made time slow. It was the kind of smile that made the sky burst into blossoms. The kind of smile so genuine, one would be lucky to catch enough of it to etch into memory. He had never seen Dream smile like this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re getting distracted, George.” It was murmured, low and deep in his throat, and the hair on George’s arms shot up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A particularly powerful blow rattled his bones, shaking his blood up to his neck. His feet carried him back into twisting stalks of grass. The distance gave him room to breathe, cracking a river between his shattering defense and Dream’s relentless front. But the earth below his feet was slick, courtesy of the morning’s showers, and the ground rolled up under his feet, pitching him backward into the meadow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream’s hand shot out, the sword falling from his fingers as he reached out for George. But the distance was too great, and George landed on his back, losing his air in a painful rush. Turning in the long grass, he hacked into the dirt, sucking in as much of the evening air that would fit into his lungs. His head was spotty as he collapsed back into the ground. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Scarlet heat rose to his face as he caught his breath, electrifying him in the frozen air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Deep chuckling drew him out of his frantic state and he watched as a hand dipped into view. Dream towered above him, that smiling mask mocking him as his chest rose and fell in tandem. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Need some help?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The taunt sent prickles of frustration running down George’s spine and he set his jaw. He kicked out sharply, catching Dream square on the side of his leg. It was a dirty trick, something that belonged miles below the surface amongst the black haze of coal particles smudging the walls. Something he shouldn’t have done, not on the flowering hillside. But as Dream staggered to one side, George leaped up, a spiteful grin growing on his lips. Dream caught himself on the grass and jumped back up just as fast, but the glimmer of satisfaction George felt would last eons. In seconds, he scooped up his sword and they were back at it again, the playtime over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream whaled down blow after blow, striking harder and harder each time. George grimaced against his strength, noticing the competitive edge in Dream’s moves. He could barely keep up, dirt slick under his boots and arms aching with the weight of the sword, and he was beginning to question his satisfaction. Dream scoffed as he pushed him back further, a cruel twist to his words as he hissed, “It’s not good enough, George.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It never is with you.” He was panting sharply now, vision blurred with red. The sky was dipped in darkness, the last swirls of lavender dispersing into smoky clouds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t about me,” Dream stepped forward, drawn up to his full height. Gone was the smile he held not too long ago, replaced by terrible anger. “This is about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, George. You want to fight the king, you want to be a part of this. You're the reason I'm doing this, so get over yourself." With every word, he jabbed the sharpened tip of the sword deeper into his chest, digging into his thundering heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He saw red as he lunged forward, his sword dropped to the plush grass below. There was a flash of green and black, and a glimpse of a bone-white face as a striking pain snapped his head to the side. George dropped to his knees, blinded as the pain rocked his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ghostly echoes rasp against his bleeding ears, trickling down the scratches marring his skin. There’s the chittering hisses of mobs crawling in the caves below. They’re so close. He can hear them dragging themselves up the stone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s gravel on his face, chalky and thick. It roughens his throat and he’s gasping for air, terrible wrenching coughs that break his voice into fragments. He’s scattered everywhere. He’s a million pieces broken all over the ground. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The thump of the boots echoes in his ears. The leather cracks across the ground. His back is consumed by fire. There’s blood everywhere. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hands dragged up his cheeks, rough against his burning skin. Calloused thumbs pulled tears down to his lips and he tasted the bitter salt. The sharpness chased the iron from his tongue. The hurried tones of someone’s voice echoed in his ears, and George looked up through bleary eyes. A smiling mask looked down at him.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George. George, hey. You're okay. You hear me?" The rough pads of fingers grounded him in sudden reality, cupped against his cheeks. There was grass beneath his fingers. The hum of bees rang close to his ears. There were two dotted eyes hanging high above moving lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snapped up to Dream's mask and the world came back in a rush of noise and pain. His face burned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay? </span>
  <em>
    <span>George-</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's fine," He croaked out. His throat was glass, fracturing with the weight of phantom screams. Scalding tears pooled in his stinging eyes and George couldn’t bring himself to drag them away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frantic hands reached for him, fingers trailing gently over his stinging skin. "Please, let me-" George jerked back and Dream's hands fell like a shot dove. Tears dripped off his chin, sprinkling the grass with dew and Dream leaned back hesitantly. His lips trembled under that moon-like mask and George looked away sharply, a sudden flash of anger striking him in the chest. How could he look so hurt? The thought made his head hurt and he dropped his face to his knees. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's fine," He spoke after a stretch of painful silence, his fingers splayed across the bruising mass of his cheek. "Watch it next time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry George, I-" He stopped short and George watched his lips twist into a tight grimace. His hands were clasped together in a pale, shaking grip. "I realize I haven't been the best of teachers-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What would make you think that?" He scoffed and Dream had the grace to look admonished. He felt guilty, George knew, an unusual expression on his hardened face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I shouldn't have done what I did. Those methods don't work on others."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What? Shouting orders and knocking me back over and over?" Bitterness rose in his throat. Life had been cruel to him for many years, it didn't surprise him that it would continue its treatment into his stay at the camp. He was mad, however. "Those don't work on </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It worked on me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" He breathed out, heavy and incredulous, brain whirring as Dream sat down heavily beside him in the swaying grass. He kicked his legs out, mouth wired shut as if he hadn't spoken a word. The silence stretched on and George wondered if they would waste the night away in silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then, he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I wasn't always working for Techno, you know? Everyone has a beginning somewhere." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but looking at Dream's bent form, he asked anyways. "Where was yours?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The battlefields." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped, gaping at Dream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George's eyes bored into Dream, who stayed stubbornly looking to the horizon. "You fought against the King?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, his fingers stilling on the petals of a flower. Idly, he ripped out the thin stems of oxeye daisies from the ground, laying them atop one another like matchsticks. "You say that as if I had a choice.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George watched the stack grow, the fanning petals stark against the shadowed grass. Finding his voice buried deep in his head, he asked, "Was it as bad as they say?"  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's hand stilled for a second. "I was on my first battlefield by fourteen," He flicked the stack over, watching as the frail flowers splayed across the dirt. "Commander of my own troop by sixteen." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The numbers who had died in the early years of the fighting - George shuddered at the image. Sixteen and commanding those into war, into the ruthless killing and the incorrigible bloodlust of the king - he couldn't imagine the horrors he'd seen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It wasn't violent at first, you know? The other soldiers told me, but I was too young to know what it was like before </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>." A chill ran through George. Dream pressed on, his hands squeezed tight. "We were supposed to claim new lands, unconquered lands. It was almost like adventuring, they told me. And then a new King was crowned, and the troops split." There was an icy silence and as Dream fell back into the grass, George realized the conversation had ended. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George leaned back in the grass, tilting his neck to the sky. Stars peppered the indigo expanse. In the presence of the universe, he felt tiny. The silence was far too heavy for such a beautiful sight, and George scrambled to come up with something to fill the emptiness.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What about your parents?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"As far as I know, I never had any. Grew up alone," Dream laughed, a bitter sound carried low by the wind and George bit his lip with a weak smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You and me both then."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream turned his gaze on him, and through that ugly mask of his, George could feel his gaze all over him. He nodded slightly and scoured the sky for something unseen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, you were right earlier." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmm?" George trained his gaze upwards. Somehow, the cool night air had sucked the heat from his face, leaving him freezing in the midst of stars.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know you at all, do I?" Dream sounded distant, the smoky question dispersing into clouds above.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And why should you?" George plucked a daisy from the ground, feeling the fragile stem crush under his blunt fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He waited for Dream's response, but it didn't come. The masked man stared at the clouds above, seeming to wait for George to start. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. The blades of grass tickled his sore cheek as he told Dream about his parents.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My father was a librarian," He started. Dream turned his curious gaze to him, but he kept his eyes turned above. "My mother, a potions master. They taught me everything I know about magic. Every story, every potion, every inkling of magic in my blood is from them. It's all I have left to remember them by."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened to them?" It was spoken quietly, uncertainly. George had the feeling he already knew.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened to all of us," George murmured, visions of spiraling smoke and burnt hay searing his nose. "They came during the Winter. It - there wasn't anything special about that day. Mom had been cleaning, Dad had been organizing his books. I- I didn't hear the shouting until it was too late." His hands trembled atop his chest. The temperature around him dropped and chills ran down his spine. Dream was quiet beside him. "I remember the confusion the most. I didn't know who the men were, just that they were angry. And then-" He stopped, eyes squeezing shut. Pinpricks of white were burnt into his eyes. "My mom told me she loved me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I ran out the backdoor, my dad told me to before they got to him too." He choked back the sullen words, forcing them out. "I wanted them to come too, but it wouldn't have mattered. It didn't matter I knew the woods, it didn't matter I had that head start. They found me anyway. And then after-" He laughed bitterly, surprising himself with the sharp bark. "well, you know that part."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream stiffened beside him, but George didn't spare it a thought. The story was shocking to most. They never spoke of the King's brutality in the Capital, not with such care. That kind of talk got you imprisoned, or worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a rustle of fabric and George turned to see Dream rise, his mask moonish. He dipped out of George's vision, a spectral figure warping into the shadows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Go down to the village, try to eat something before you sleep." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up quickly, frowning as Dream stalked across the hillside to gather their swords. The night flipped like a coin, landing on tension once again. Just when George was beginning to think he had a human side, Dream withdrew into his cold exterior. He was losing hope that he would ever get past that mask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to ask why he was like this. He wanted so desperately to know why he closed himself off, why he acted how he did, all high and mighty and untouchable. It made his blood boil, spilling crimson into his eyes, his ears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But all he could find was a quiet, "I'll be working late at Philza's."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream nodded. "Good. Tomorrow, again at sunrise." He hesitated, moving slightly to steal a look at George, still blanketed by the silver moonlight in his bed of wildflowers. "We'll try the new methods this time," There was some vague smile in his voice and George snorted, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream left quickly, melting into the forest like he was born from the fanning spruce. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George sighed deep, turning his gaze back to the star-speckled sky. The grass tickled his sore cheek, but in the frozen night, he was numb. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you're doing well! I'm bad at this but remember to hydrate </p>
<p>Anyway ohohoo now the training arc is underway - and we're starting to learn a lot more about our resident faceless himbo. Tbh I wish I could have worked on this a bit more but midsemester exams are coming up and so school is just preying on my downfall at this point - I hope you're taking some breaks in life, whether you have school or work. </p>
<p>The next chapter should be up in a week :)<br/>Let me know what you thought &lt;3 </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Also thank you for 200 kudos!!! :D ahhh!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"What are you doing here?" </p>
<p>George whirled around, his heart leaping to his throat at the call. His hands knocked against the edge of the pot, still warm, and he inhaled sharply at the heat.</p>
<p>At the end of the treehouse, standing beside the open trapdoor, was Dream. He looked terrible, hunched over in exhaustion. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing arms scratched up to hell. The sight had George reeling, unable to tear his eyes from the boy.  </p>
<p>"What on Earth happened to you?"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hunched over a bubbling cauldron, George let out a tired growl. Philza's treehouse was filled with the strong scents of herbs and burning roots. It was all getting to be too overwhelming, the heat, the smell, the blackening sludge of the potion that had shown so much promise. He put out the sizzling flames quickly, head cloudy in the confined space. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What a shame it was too. Philza had long since left on an ingredient run, having traveled to the nearest training outpost. George had lost it looking at his heavy disguise, the overlapping cloaks and frilled fabric designed to hide his wings. He thought it made Philza look like a weathered grandmother, but bit his tongue at the man's withering stare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had spent the free time brewing a potion of healing - old faithful - but switched up some of the ingredients in hopes of making some progress with brewing techniques. To say he failed was an understatement. Deserting the sludgy brew, George wandered outside to the balcony, welcoming the icy breeze that snaked under his thick cloak. Faintly in the distance, the gentle strumming of a guitar was carried high on the wind towards him. Wilbur was singing again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Far below the treehouse's ropes and rickety staircase, the village sprawled out across the wide clearing. He could see Niki and Puffy closing up shop, tucking buckets and clay pots of flowers back into the store as they locked the doors. He'd been surprised to find Puffy owned a flower shop- she didn't strike him as a person to have an affinity for agriculture, but he supposed he shouldn't judge. She had fun with Niki, it was clear, and he was more envious of their life than anything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He'd been holed up in the treehouse for most of the week. After Dream's last training before he left on his mission, he had nothing more to do but work on potions. Philza had him hard at work, maximizing the effects of his potions. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of testing. Sapnap had offered to take the brunt of the experiments, which had unsurprisingly resulted in many failures. George had grown sick of hearing the man retch and had sent him off to Karl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking off to the dark forest, George wondered when Dream would be back. It had been days since he had left by Techno's command, and he was becoming antsy in the treehouse. He'd practiced with his sword, of course, but there was little he could do without a well-matched partner. Even now, the sword was propped up against a stool inside, scratched and worn to embarrassing bluntness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream had made good on his word and had been far kinder to him during their last training. That didn't mean he went easy - George's muscles still twinged at times from the brunt force he'd taken, but Dream's biting comments had dwindled into advice, comments, tips on form and technique. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chills ran down his form and George headed back inside, hoping the overpowering scent had worn away. He tossed the sludgy brew into a nearby plant pot, too tired to properly dispose of it.  He reckoned the watermelon he'd used in the brew would make for good compost. If not, he could always blame Tommy for the plant's death. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of the boy, Tommy had also been somewhat of a ghost around the Rebel camp. Coming and going at the most random of times, he had been wreaking havoc everywhere. The boy had recently adopted a cow - god knows where he found it, somewhere deep in the forest. Tommy had a knack for attracting strays, George thought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They'd been at the tavern, having a slow night of drinking when Tommy had burst in with the news. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What should I name him?" He'd asked, practically vibrating on the spot in excitement. Wilbur had opened his mouth, a brazen smirk betraying his next words. Fortunately, Tommy caught it and immediately interrupted, "Wilbur, do not say cu-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I wasn't going to!" He vehemently denied, and as the two squabbled, George thought quietly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How about Henry?" He'd once owned a cow with his parents, using the milk Henry provided to remedy many ill potion effects. Of course, the soldiers had left no person alive after their sieges, but George often wondered what had happened to the old cow.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Much to his surprise, a wide smile had stretched across Tommy's face. "Henry, huh? Not too shit, Gogy."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George had smiled wanly at that, watching as Tommy took the newly christened Henry off to Karl's barn for safe-keeping.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George whirled around, his heart leaping to his throat at the call. His hands knocked against the edge of the pot, still warm, and he inhaled sharply at the heat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the end of the treehouse, standing beside the open trapdoor, was Dream. He looked terrible, hunched over in exhaustion. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing arms scratched up to hell. The sight had George reeling, unable to tear his eyes from the boy.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What on Earth happened to you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where's Phil?" Dream demanded, his mask turning slowly to scan the room. He sounded off-  drained, and frustrated. Staring at the red lines carved against his skin, George frowned.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Out. Running errands." He remained stuck against the pot, watching as Dream shifted uncomfortably. "What did you need?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothing. I'll come back later-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream." George set his eyes on the man, giving his best imitation of Techno's stare. "What happened to you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence before Dream sighed heavily, arms crossed over his chest. "Got scratched up by some mobs. It's fine."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was strange to see the man so weary. Despite their early morning treks across the hillsides, Dream was never tired. He had always worn bruises across hardened skin - George managed to get some hits in during practice - but he had never seen Dream bleed. It made his skin crawl. He stepped away from the hearth, making room on one of the wooden counters. Looking back at Dream's still form, he scoffed, gesturing at the clear space. "Sit down, idiot."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he relented. "Make it quick at least," He grumbled. Surprising George, he pulled his shirt high, revealing a wide gash spanning across his ribs. Examining the wound, George sucked in a sharp breath. His skin around the open cut was a mottled mess of blue and black. He would need stitches, George thought with a click of his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rummaging through Philza's shelves, he quickly found what he was looking for. He sliced the melon with quick, precise cuts, dropping the fleshy fruit into a glass bottle. Filling the rest of the brew with water and flecks of gold, he shook the glass until the mixture was a bright, sparkling scarlet. It was diluted - it had to be. Potions with strong effects such as healing had terrible, if not worse side effects to their remedial properties. All that would change with time, George hoped, as he got better with the brewing. For now, he wasn't willing to take the risk.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He handed the potion over to Dream, who tipped it into his mouth without hesitation. George followed the smooth curve of his neck past the bunched-up fabric of his cloak, down to the angry slash. Swallowing thickly, he fetched some string and a needle and got to work on stitching his wound together. Flakes of blood flecked his fingers like paint chips against wood grain and George grimaced. He'd need to find a poultice for infection, he thought as he finished up his work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream, much to George's surprise, was terrible with pain - whiny and incessant every time he pulled on the thin string. Lips pursed in concentration, George secured the stitches, his hands dancing across the blood-crusted skin. Dream flinched at the feather-light touches and George took careful note, hiding a grin at the man's discomfort. Though he tried to hide it through set lips and fisted hands, Dream's rigid posture gave him away. His hands gripped his shirt tight, nestled against the fabric of his cloak. It was pinned almost too tight against his throat, leaving George to wonder how well Dream could even breathe. Cleaning away the blood, he wondered… Devilish amusement bloomed in his chest as he pulled one of Philza's herbal poultices onto the table. His hands flittered over the sensitive skin blooming purples and blacks and Dream inhaled sharply, his hands squeezing tighter at his sides. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Interesting. </span>
</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged the medicinal paste over the ridges of Dream's skin, past the warped lines of scars and hard muscle. Fingers trailing smoothly over his raised skin, George followed the ridges of the sewn-up cut. His fingers were cold on Dream's fluttering skin. Freckles covered his body, pooling like stars under the hollow divot of his throat. George unconsciously trailed over the marks, wondering if he could spot Orion or Cygnus on the universe littering his body. His fingers skirted past a pale scar, cut parallel to Dream's heart, and Dream jolted, his hand shooting out to grab George by the wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't do that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George looked up at him with an innocent gaze, cocking his head in question. The overwhelming herbal scent of the poultice filled his nose. "Do what?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know what-" Dream cut himself off, growling into his hand as he dragged his palm down his face. George smirked and put away the poultice, figuring Dream was done with his teasing. It was beyond hilarious to see the firm warrior so fidgety, so out of character because of a small wound. Despite the layer of amusement it brought him to see Dream squirm, the pads of his fingers burned, matchsticks lit against rough scars. The thought was pushed as far away as possible, something too heavy to think about. Pulling out a roll of linen, he got to work bandaging Dream's waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Under the pads of his fingers, he could feel the thundering of Dream's heart and frowned. Perhaps the potion hadn't been diluted enough.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You still use that thing?" The question came abruptly and George looked up to see Dream transfixed on the dull-edged sword leaning idly against the stool. There was something to the curve of his mouth that sparked an odd defensiveness in George, and he shot a sharp look at the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's the only one I have. It's not my fault no one thought to give me a more fitting weapon."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh right, give the healer a weapon," Dream smirked and George gave a tight-lipped grin back before he pulled tightly on the bandages, making the other straighten dramatically. Dream glared down at him and George ignored the look in favor of securing the wrap. "Good to know you've been practicing, at least." Dream murmured, his lips twitching up as he watched George return the bottle and poultice to the shelves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What more could I do when my teacher left unexpectedly?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I should have told you when I'd be back."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George looked back, eyebrows arching in surprise. The sudden admission left him slightly lost in his rapidly dispersing annoyance. "You don't need to tell me everything you do."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dream shook his head. "It wasn't fair to you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrugging, he set the bottle down on the shelf. When he turned back, Dream was up and pulling down his shirt. His freckled skin was covered once more under the layers of thick cotton.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you done with your work?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking back at the wilting plant pot, covered in black sludge, George could only nod. Philza might be disappointed he gave up, but George reckoned he was still a few hours out from the village. Leaving plenty of time to disappear before Phil found out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good. Come with me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George pursed his lips at Dream's turned back. "Where to?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dream was halfway to the trapdoor when he looked back. "I promised a friend that I'd visit as soon as I was back. Besides," His gaze flitted towards the scratched up wooden sword. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs remedying."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He disappeared down the trapdoor and George paused. Intrigue tingled down his spine at the prospect Dream hinted at. The night was fast approaching,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thought lingered in his head and he stopped last-minute, sliding the sword into a barren drawer before he slid down the rope ladder, following Dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The forge was located in the near center of the village, a blocky building made from carved stone blocks stacked squat and wide. George stood before the structure, watching the smoke puff from the chimneys out to the sky, mingling with the wisps of clouds above. He’d been to a blacksmith's before with his mother, but never to one of this size. Dream stalked inside without a second glance back, leaving George to follow him into the square doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The heat was unbearable. It was like walking through lava, George thought as he was blasted with the insufferable smell of metal and smoky coal. Sweat prickled on his arms and stuck to the back of his knees, his body weeping as it was lit ablaze. Heavy iron cast tools hung in neat rows on the walls, occasionally taken to and fro around the wide working space. There were more smiths than George realized. Several villagers stoked the fires burning in their hearths, melting down shining steel into casts. Their weathered faces were illuminated by licks of fire, flicking bright orange into the depths of their eyes, their hollowed cheeks, and the lines worn into their faces. They were bathed in heat and light, the molten glow seeping into everything around them. He watched as Dream rolled his sleeves further up to his shoulders, feeling fortunate he wasn't the only one affected by the heat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"George - and Dream too!" A chirpy voice called out to them and George watched as a figure darted around workers towards them, an incredible smile breaking across their face. Bad gave an excited wave as he approached with vigor. "About time you got back!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey Bad," Dream was smiling, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder. Bad was dressed in a traditional smith's wear - a long, leather apron tied around a loose cotton shirt. His cloak was wrapped around his form despite the blazing heat, and he didn't seem to mind even as a fire blazed uncontrollably high beside him, brought down moments later by a lazy hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Finally decided to pay us a visit, huh, Georgie?" Sapnap stood before him, his hand still fully submerged in the wavering flames of the hearth. Bad yanked him back with practiced hands and Sapnap relented, flashing a grin at Dream. He was dressed similarly to Bad, in a white cotton shirt and slacks, though he had no apron or cloak. Seemingly not as immune to the heat as Bad, he had unbuttoned his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur mentioned Bad worked here," George recalled from his first-night drinking with the man. "But he never mentioned anything about you, Sapnap."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man rolled his eyes. "Wilbur rarely does. And what did you think I did around here for fun? Might as well make use of my abilities." He slung an arm around Bad, who grimaced under the weight. "Besides, Bad knows how to keep me in check around here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wish that were true," Bad huffed and George cracked a grin. He turned to Dream. "I recall we meant to talk?" George raised an eyebrow at the implication but said nothing as Bad led Dream further into the smithy. What did the two of them have to discuss? George hadn't them spend much time together - mostly due to Dream's common disappearances and Bad's long hours, which made the thought that much more intriguing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess you're stuck with me then, Gogy," Sapnap trilled, leaning forward with a troubling smile. George bit back an exaggerated groan as the other grabbed onto his arm. "Well come on, then. Let me show you what I've been working on." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They passed several more hearths, some a cold pile of coal lumps half-buried in mountains of ashes, some blazing high with fires ranging from sulfur-yellow to diamond-blue. The walls were pitch black, made of some sort of blackstone variant that seemed to suck all of the light into the stone. He dragged his hand along the stone, pleasantly surprised at the cold that radiated from the wall. Vaguely, he recalled the stone was native to the Nether. The heat-absorbing effects made sense, then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap darted further into the heat, and George dragged his hand across his face, his eyes wandering freely around the space. Several iron blades were strewn about a table, some still molten red in their cast. It seemed as though production had been accelerated, most likely by Techno's command, George thought. It felt as though the whole village was preparing for something large, and the thought made him anxious. He wondered if he should be back in the treehouse - if he shouldn't have followed Dream to the smithery. Surely he was wasting his time here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Take a look, George," Sapnap was beaming at him and George jolted back to the present. The man held a lump of speckled glass in his open palm, holding the misshapen orb to the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What-" George narrowed his eyes at the blob of glass, inspecting it from another angle and coming up clueless. "What even is that?"  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was rewarded with a swift slap on the arm, something that left an alarming burning feeling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, come on, you really can't tell?" The silence was all the answer Sapnap needed, and he clicked his tongue. "It's supposed to be a wind chime. You know, at least the beginnings of one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." George inspected the lump further, and perhaps he could see the round edges of a glass cup, perfect to hang metal chimes within. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap shook his head, but his smile betrayed him as he tossed the glass shape back into the fire. The heat swallowed it whole and it melted into a puddle of luminous white, bright enough to make him wince.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to get more glass and some coloring. Don't leave or Bad will kill me. And I'm serious about that - that man is freaky-" Sapnap was gone in a flash, the white tail-ends of his bandana trailing down his back. That had to be some sort of fire hazard, George thought wanly as he disappeared into the wavering heat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"-he's okay?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George turned at the voice - recognizing it as Bad's. Peering around the corner of one of the lit hearths, he caught a glimpse of red fabric. Bad stood next to the flames, his back turned to George as he spoke. The curve of his nose and the tips of his horns were illuminated in golden light, casting an ethereal glow on his features. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's safe, Bad. He'll remain safe. If he isn't, you know he'll come straight back to us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know, it's just-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"You worry," Dream's voice held a wistful smile as he reached out a hand, his fingers wrapping around the crux of Bad's elbow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't help it," Bad murmured and George caught himself frowning at his voice. Bad sounded so small. It shouldn't make sense, for such an intimidating being to sound so small, yet George knew the feeling all too well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He misses you, you know? He told me to tell you he-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know he does." Bad cut him off, clearing thick tears from his throat. "But I want to hear him say it himself."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And he will, Bad."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," Bad repeated like it was the only lifeline he could cling to, and George moved back from the hearth, his ears burning from the fire. There was only one person they could be talking about. Skeppy. He leaned against an empty furnace, the stone deceivingly cold against his skin. Wilbur had told him the man had gone off to infiltrate the castle- though George didn't think he was supposed to know that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, George~" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned his head to the side to catch a grinning Sapnap, watching as the man pulled his hand out from behind his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Look what I found for you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sword was beautiful, a sleek blade of iron fitted into a gorgeous handle carved from a block of dark, grained wood. As Sapnap turned it, the light melted into the carved engravings running down the blade's length, making it glow. George was reaching out for it on instinct, his fingers wrapping around the handle perfectly. The blade was heavy, but not too hindering, and he wondered what careful combination of metals was mixed to create the balance. He swung the blade through the air, delighting in the way it sliced down in a clean arc. This wasn't a tool, he realized as he examined the blade. It was art. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I take it you like the sword?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>George glanced up to meet Bad's joyful gaze, his hands clasped expectantly in front of his apron. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's amazing," He breathed, experimenting with another swing. The metal made a swift sound as it warped the air. "It's absolutely perfect, Bad. Don't tell me you made it?" The horned man's cheeks darkened with a pleasant blush at the praise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Bad makes most of the stuff around here," Sapnap drawled from where he stood over the fire, his hands plunged deep into the licking flames. "He's the only one who can carve the metal like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's incredible." George examined the careful etchings, awed of the precise cuts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aw, stop it," Bad gushed, flashing a bright smile at the both of them. "It's yours to keep, George." Upon George's wide-eyed look, Bad laughed. "Dream's been asking me for one for ages now, I'm only sorry it took so long to get done." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, no, thank you for this," George mumbled, unsure of what to do with the knowledge that Dream had requested the sword for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"With a blade like that, I doubt there's anything that you can't do." Dream looked at him from where he stayed back in the shadows of the smithery, and George caught his careful grin in the light of the flames. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked down at the sword, feeling the weight press against his fingertips. His hands did not shake. His wrists did not hurt. With a growing smile, George realized something incredible.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sword didn't feel like a pickaxe. It felt right.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Saturday! (Or Friday or Sunday - who knows how time zones work at this point) </p>
<p>I hope you're doing well! </p>
<p>Bad and Sapnap were fuuuun to write omg - oh and George being a tiny bit of a sadist ahah um that's fine- </p>
<p>I have test week coming up next week, so I might be a little slow getting the next couple chapters uploaded, but things in this story will definitely be picking up in the next couple of chapters - and I mean reaaally picking up... </p>
<p>Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well, and if you liked this feel free to let me know your thoughts down below! I appreciate all the comments so much &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You've been hard at work," Dream hummed, his deft fingers flipping through George's journals, holding them just high enough out of his reach. George swept the remaining pages out from under his prying eyes, shoving them into an already crowded drawer. He left blaze powder shimmering on the paper and Dream leaned forward, a curious twist to his lips. </p>
<p>The notes in his hand were dropped onto the desk with little care, and George glanced up with widening eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat as Dream reached out to him. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next week passed in a blur of early morning training sessions and late nights spent at Philza's, sometimes with the man present, most times without. Meetings with Techno and the Rebels were scattered throughout the days, usually long, tedious talks that dragged on until George's eyes were leaden with boredom. It was beyond surprising he hadn't fallen asleep at one of them by now. Usually spearheading the meetings was Techno, who remained as stone-faced as ever, but George had begun to notice a change in his languid behavior - something more invigorating. They had all received their fair share of tasks from the half-blood leader, sending the village into a frenzy of business and craft. George hadn't seen many of his friends in a while - often only catching passing waves from Karl and Niki, or minimal small talk with Puffy and Bad before they were whisked off to fulfill their duties. One person he saw often enough, however, was Dream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After the meetings, if they had time, Dream would take him out to the hillside to train. Long forgotten was the wooden sword, still kept hidden in the treehouse drawer. The dull weapon, now replaced by the much sleeker, sharper weapon Bad had made him, was almost laughable now. Bad's sword was a godsend. The weapon was quickly becoming an extension of himself, something inexplicably bigger than a sword. The beautifully crafted blade was never gone from his side for long, and in fact, the village leatherworker - a scruffy, lively man that went by H, had engineered him a leather strap that kept his sword buckled to his side. The strap wound around his waist and hips snugly, fit with a scabbard for the sword. George had grown steadily accustomed to the weight at his side, often dropping a hand down to trail over the leather absent-mindedly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spring had swept through the forest quickly as the sun set later and later into the night. Several trees in the forest blossomed, their branches dripping with blue and white flowers. Carrying the sweet smell of pollen to the village were gentle winds. The hillside was covered in flowers, bright buds of cornflowers and poppies bursting into brilliant puffs of color amid the tall grass. On that blooming hillside, Dream trained him sternly, guiding him through sword movements and frequent sparring matches. Karl had offhandedly remarked he could sometimes hear the bursting clashes of swords through the thickets of dense forest. When training got too tiring, and George fell back into the field, gasping for breath, Dream watched patiently until he got up again. It never took long. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream had been gone for a few days now, out on a mission with Sapnap. George had only managed to catch a fleeting glance of the two of them packing up bags at Karl's stables before they left South towards the desert. But on their last training together, Dream had made sure to let George know he'd be back within a few days, instructing him to keep practicing with the sword. He was finally upholding his promises, letting George in on more of his duties in the village, and he wasn't about to lose that trust. So he practiced, every morning at the same time, just as the faintest glow of dawn brushed against the treeline of the forest. Never on the hilltop, though - it didn't seem right alone, after all. He frequently wandered over to Karl's farm, paying Tommy's cow a visit before he set to work with the sword. His wrists still ached with a dull pain when he swung the sword, and his breath escaped him far too fast for his liking, but he was improving with every day that passed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Under Techno's orders, George spent his nights high up in Philza's treehouse, brewing and bottling and wasting away in the cluttered space. Though the nights were long and George fell asleep at the table too many times to count, only to be woken up by Philza later, he was making steady work perfecting his potion recipes. This night would prove to be similar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He flipped through a notebook hurriedly, finding a clear space to jot down scrawling print. His wrist left a stamp of golden powder on the tea-stained paper as he scribbled down the moderations. The cauldron bubbled before him, filled to the brim with a silky purple liquid. He had been working for hours on end, the countertop beside him a mess of pages and ink pots. A cold bowl of stew lay apart from the fray. Philza had wandered into the house and had demanded he'd eat and drink before he passed out, but aside from the brief distraction, he'd been alone in the treehouse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling a ladle off of a hook above the hearth, he spooned the potion into a glass bottle. The liquid twirled in ribbons of frothy purple, sparkling with specks of golden blaze powder. The same powder was streaked across his face, his arms, smudged over his clothes, and dragged through his hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His breath hitched as he brought the potion up to the faint lantern light, observing the cooling liquid as it glimmered faintly. The faintest drop on his skin made his finger tingle as if electrified, and George sucked in a sharp breath. Eyes blown wide, he stared at the potion in disbelief, realization snapping at his face. He'd done it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After the most recent meeting, Techno had pulled him aside, boring into him with the weight of his expectations. George knew of his purpose at camp - the reason why Techno had risked Dream and Sapnap's safety to pull him from the depths of the King's mine. He was their best shot at a rapid advancement, and he was proving to be a losing gamble. The crushing feeling had been consuming him at too rapid of a pace to hold off, and George was beginning to think Techno had made a mistake in saving him. But now, holding the warm glass in his hand, a smile cracked his weary face, making his cheeks ache.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He'd finally cracked it. Tears of relief pricked at his eyes as he examined the brew. The potion was perfectly stable, its effects potent enough to still feel minutes after skin contact. The side-effects would hit in larger doses, he was fairly certain, but that was to be seen. He wondered if Sapnap would be willing to test it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The purple brew winked golden flashes, the picture-perfect strength potion. It was almost like his mother had crafted it. Still grinning wide, George set the potion down with porcelain hands. He couldn't wait to show Philza. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The small, wrinkled notebook was cradled in his fingers as he poured over the hastily written recipe. With a bit of tweaking, he was sure he could produce other potion effects besides strength. He already knew healing - that would be simple enough to recreate with the ingredients Phil had bought. Now that he finally got the basis for the potions, it could all happen so much faster. The rebels had been planning for a grand attack for months now, solidifying details upon details for the inevitable. George couldn't help but imagine the praise the potions would garner - perhaps he'd even see Techno smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His finger buzzed, almost as if shocked, and George turned a thoughtful glance to the cauldron. If the slightest drop of the strength potion left him feeling like this - wound up and electrified, he could only imagine what large amounts would do. Painted red lips mouthed warnings at him and he bit his lip. The side-effects would do more damage than good. One of the first things his mother had told him, and something he would never forget. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For every gain, there is a loss.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Under his fingers, the glass was cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp knock startled George and he turned to see a masked face pop out from the trapdoor. His fingers relaxed on the bottle as Dream hefted himself up smoothly, kicking the wooden door back down to the ground. George watched him brush himself off, surveying the room with an almost bored glance. His fingers hummed and he bit his cheek. Dream was back, and this time, he appeared to be without injury.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you doing?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His mask was rubbed clean, bone-white sleek in the lantern-lit room. For such a warm night, Dream was very overdressed. His cloak was pulled tight over his shoulders, secured at his throat by a silver pin. Dark, fingerless gloves covered his palms, pulled up to his wrists. George looked away, clutching the glass bottle tightly. He could feel the gritty residue of blaze powder on his face and imagined what a mess he must be. It was frankly unfair. Dream shouldn't look as put together as he did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He set the bottle aside, grabbing the ladle beside him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Shimmering dust fell to the ground around him and he ignored it, spooning the potion into the bottles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream hummed, and George tensed. His heart skipped in his chest, hopping around heartstrings as Dream's boots clicked softly against the ground. If he hadn't knocked, George doubted he would have noticed his arrival, too consumed with his discovery. And as always, Dream had been as silent as the dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence pooled between them but George could hear the rustle of Dream's cloak as he moved behind him. Dragging his mind back to the cauldron, he uncorked a bottle smoothly. There was enough of the potion for six more bottles, he guessed, peering into the swirling liquid. Three already lay beside him on the counter, corked tight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pale moon-like mask wavered in the rippling surface of the potion, suspended over the dark smudge of his shoulder. Dream didn't speak, and George shot him a sharp look as he set aside the bottles. They made a merry clink as he filled them up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a potion of strength," He spoke, sick of the silence. He dipped the ladle into the cauldron, watching thick bubbles of purple pop on the sparkling surface. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Strength?" Dream's voice was husky, murmured close to his ear, and George tensed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why am I not surprised that caught your interest?" His fingers clutched the handle of the pot tightly, hefting the heavy iron up off the smoking wood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Arms encompassed him then, and George almost let go of the cauldron. Hands brushed over his softly and he sucked in a tight breath, swallowing the sand in his throat as Dream took the pot from his hands. His palms left searing burns on George's knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where did you want this?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George jerked his head to the side, wishing the night was cooler as his cheeks bloomed with heat. The skip of his heart was mortifying, and he wished he could blame it on the potion. One drop of strength couldn't be the reason he felt so weak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream followed his path, letting George duck below his arms before he hefted the pot over to the counter with ridiculous ease. His cloak billowed around him, casting fickle shadows on the walls. George watched him with narrowed eyes, his arms held tight to his chest. Dream was acting weird. Too polite, too patient with him - it unnerved him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream, why are you here?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitated for a second before settling on, "I never got to thank you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"For what?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's chin dipped down and George watched as his free hand brushed against the hem of his shirt, dancing atop his stomach. George knew, nestled under the fabric was a row of stitches, sewn by a novice hand.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream leaned back against the counter, his fingers settling close to George's notes. The potion recipes he had been working on for hours on end were spread across the wood carelessly, waiting to be ruined by a fallen inkpot or a smudge of poultice. His eyes followed the pages carefully, almost missing Dream's next words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't deserve your efforts, not after what I've done." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George cocked his head at the sudden words, a frown playing on his lips. "I don't pick and choose who I heal." He wanted to tell Dream he deserved more than he could ever give, but the words caught in his mouth, teetering over his tongue dangerously. Where had that thought come from? The words tumbled around in his mind and he shooed them away quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless, a smile stretched across Dream's lips. He looked away and George straightened as his mask swung towards his notes. He studied the messy scrawl and George hurried to gather up the pages, unreasonably embarrassed of the senseless scribbles and harsh lines.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You've been hard at work," Dream hummed, his deft fingers flipping through George's journals, holding them just high enough out of his reach. George swept the remaining pages out from under his prying eyes, shoving them into an already crowded drawer. He left blaze powder shimmering on the paper and Dream leaned forward, a curious twist to his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The notes in his hand were dropped onto the desk with little care, and George glanced up with widening eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat as Dream reached out to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You've got something-" Dream murmured, and the calloused pads of his fingers left sparks on George's cheeks as he dragged them down to his jaw. He pulled them away, fingertips shimmering with gold, and huffed out a breathy laugh. George's face was on fire, heat crawling up his neck and shooting down his spine like fireworks. Dream stared at his golden fingers, his smile blazing in the dim room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George followed the curve of his neck, hidden under swathes of fabric up to his jaw, skittering over his smile and his skin. A thin scar marred his upper lip, a fickle line of white cleaving through scarlet. He had freckles flecked across his face like constellations across a pale expanse. George hadn't ever noticed them like this, stark against rosy cheeks, bright under a slice of pale moon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a beat of silence, and somehow, he knew Dream was looking right at him. His hand hovered over George’s cheek, barely touching his skin, yet burning him all the same. Clenched at his sides, his fingers tingled and his chest was squeezed far too tight, his heart battering mercilessly against his rib cage. George thought his ribs might crack if he didn't breathe. Vaguely, he wondered if he had inhaled too much of the potion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream pulled his hand back right as George stepped away, a mess of stilted limbs and fleeting heat. He shot a glare at the wall, swallowing thickly as his mind blurred. His notes were strewn across worn wood. The cauldron lay cold on the countertop. His potion bottle was still half empty. Dream's fingers were dipped in gold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Curtly, George spoke, his hands clumsily curling around the neck of the bottle. "Thank you for the gratitude. I appreciate your visit, but I have work to do. Besides, I'm sure Techno needs you for another mission anyway." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream stepped back, caught off guard, and George almost winced. He didn't mean to sound so bitter, his tone as chilling as the night air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That's-" Dream paused, unable to speak, and George almost laughed. He would have, he thought, if the silence didn't sting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I knew it." Trying to remedy his stilted tone, he pushed, "Where are you going? If you can even tell me that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream broke their gaze and George frowned at his crestfallen face. The lanterns flickered above, swinging despite there being little wind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally spoke, it was whispered low, barely heard under the creak of iron chains. "The Nether." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words hung heavy in the air like smog. George gripped the handle of the drawer, knuckles popping noisily. He waited for the punchline, the barking laughter, and the apology for the poor taste in jokes, but as Dream's hands curled into tight fists at his side, George only felt sicker. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We leave tomorrow at nightfall."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Is Techno </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He'd only ever heard about the Nether from whispered tales, children's folklore, and deranged rambling from old village crones. His own father barely spoke of the domain of hell, and when he did, it was only to utter brief descriptions, the ghosts of warnings. The stories haunted him to the day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll be fine, George, we're taking a crew of people - Sap included. I won't be alone."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He did laugh at that, shaking his head at the man. "You don't know what I know, Dream. The things that live there-" He shuddered at the mere thought, chills wracking his body. "It's not good enough to have people with you. Once the Nether has you, it burns up everything you are until you're nothing but a part of it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ash that clogged up throats until the only screams you heard were from the black sand beneath your feet, stretching on forever past seas of bubbling lava. The squealing gasps of the hulking ghasts that haunted the Nether caverns, destroying any monuments until blackstone remains littered the floor of the lands. The unspeakable terrors that lay dormant under spires of jagged, flaking basalt. The Nether was home to beasts born from fire and brimstone, ungodly creatures built to live where no man ever could. Barely any places were considered safe in the Nether, and those that went to gather from the sprawling red lands often returned changed - if they returned at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," Dream sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. His fingers left golden specks running through sandy brown hair, and George's heart pinched. "Sapnap is confident we can get in and out safely with our group. It's just a resource run - we won't be gone longer than a couple of days."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Nether, though filled with peril, was arguably the most lucrative dimension - a potion master's dream, his mother used to tell him, much to his father's chagrin. The mobs could produce ingredients with immense power - Blazes were almost impossible to find in the overworld, as was their priceless powder. It was far too cold for them here. But the rebels wouldn't want potion ingredients - not that much anyway. George knew what they were really looking for. Every blacksmith in the land knew of the Nether ore - the one natural resource stronger than diamonds, able to cut through bone like butter in one fell swoop. They called it netherite, and it was as rare as precious ores came. There was no doubt in George's mind that the rebels were looking for netherite. But the risks that came with the search… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Time passes differently in there," George warned, recalling snippets and bites from his father's stories. "It's… warped. People like us aren't meant to go there. We can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>survive</span>
  </em>
  <span> in there." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream looked solemn as he nodded. "That's why Techno's coming with us."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He knows the land better than anyone here," Dream pressed through George's reeling shock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The image of Techno - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Techno</span>
  </em>
  <span>, proper, put-together, stone-cold Techno in lands such as the Nether felt wrong. But George remembered, the leader was a half-blood, and a piglin half-blood at that. Technoblade had been born in fire. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He'll take care of us in there, he knows how it works. Don't worry-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not worried." George cut in, his mind whirling through the possibilities. Dream's lips twitched up in a knowing smirk and George ignored him, sullenly saying, "It's just a bad place."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sobered up at that, nodding curtly. There was a moment of uncertainty then, and George watched as Dream scoured over his face, the weight of his gaze heavy behind the mask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sapnap told me to tell you," Dream whispered. "I wasn't going to- I didn't want you to be scared." George frowned and Dream caught the look, laughing a soft, fragile sound. "I should've known better. I know you, better," He finished, and George stared at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was gold on his fingers, gold twined into his hair, gold in that blasted smile - that perfect smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream cleared his throat and George's thoughts shattered, going up in flames. "Before I go, I think it's best we put that sword of yours to use again, hmm?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George looked over at Philza's round, wooden table knowingly, following Dream's gaze. He'd almost forgotten about the sword. It lay on the wood, polished and glimmering at them with silent promise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tomorrow, at sunrise. Don't oversleep." Dream smiled wanly, turning to leave with the quiet vow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream?" He looked back and George hurriedly corked the strength potions, gathering three of the swirling bottles into his arms. He dropped them into a leather pack, the smooth glass clinking together cheerfully as he pressed it into Dream's arms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream shook his head. "George, I-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He caught him in the middle of the sentence, pulling Dream's hand out to take the bag. "Be safe, okay?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dream paused, his hand frozen under George's palm. His lips parted, bewildered at the gift for a brief moment. George wondered what he was thinking under that mask as he pulled his hands away, his stomach swirling with heat. Dream lips curved into a smile and he gathered the bag into his arms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Always," He assured quietly, before slinging the pack over his shoulder. He was halfway through the trapdoor before he looked up at George. "Don't stay up here too long, George. You deserve some rest." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He nodded sagely, watching as Dream slipped away into the darkness, just a flutter of billowing fabric and fingerless gloves on twining rope.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The treehouse was too quiet. George bottled up the rest of the potions quickly, sweeping his notes away into a drawer and tossing the ingredients back into their spots on the shelves. He left the cauldron on the countertop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a brisk walk back to his home, the village calm under the snug blanket of night. Fundy and H were up to their usual business, working under candlelight in one of the vacant houses. He passed them arguing and cracked a small grin as he heard H whine to an unrelenting Fundy. The amusement faded as he wound around the forest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Nether… the shock he had felt when Dream had uttered the dreaded words had been expected. What he didn't expect to feel was the fear at Dream's departure. It was a strange moment of clarity, a brief flash of calm in an ocean of panic, leaving him reeling. He pulled his fingers through his hair, tilting his gaze up to the sky above. There was not a cloud in sight. The only break in endless blue was the half slice of the moon hanging above. He looked down and startled at the golden powder staining his hands. It shimmered in the moonlight, liquid gold melting on ivory skin. Heat blossomed on his cheeks, trailing down to his jaw. George groaned into his hands, burning up in the cold night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden, hollow thunk sounded out and his head shot up, his eyes narrowing in the dark. Bright peals of laughter followed and he whirled around, finding the source. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cherry-red planks of the barn were a mottled maroon under the swash of indigo sky, standing up high against the forest. Two figures stood by the stark white fence of the farm, highlighted by the gentle smile of the moon. George wandered closer, his eyes widening as he recognized the figures. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Karl was sat atop the fence, legs hooked around the tall figure before him. His hands were nestled in their hair, fingers curled around a long, white bandana. George's eyes shot open, his feet stalling to a stop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap tilted his head up, the strong slope of his nose and the curve of his cheeks painted in silver as Karl pulled him near. The two whispered to each other, occasionally laughing at a murmured remark. They pulled each other into their orbits, two stars glimmering in the dark.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A gorgeous ringing drew George's eyes to Karl's hand. Hanging off of one of his fingers was a small, misshapen blob speckled with random bursts of red and orange. It chimed in his hand as he trailed his fingers through Sapnap's hair and down his jaw. George grinned as he recognized the wind chime. His glee dispersed quickly as the smaller dipped down, brushing his nose against Sapnap's gently. The man looked up, murmuring something low and sweet into Karl's mouth, his hands sliding up to cup Karl's face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wind chime rang again and George turned away, his cheeks aflame as his feet carried him back home. The musical chime echoed in his ears as he stared at the ceiling of his room, wide awake in the dark. Calloused hands brushed against his cheeks, leaving warm trails behind as blaze powder fell to the sheets, leaving him drowning in gold.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'ello luvs, hope you're doing well today! </p>
<p>Extra-long chapter today because I'm weak for self-indulgent fluff angst scenes. Also Karlnap! ay- at least now we know who the windchime was for :)  </p>
<p>I'm kind of unsure of my posting schedule for the next 3-ish weeks, as I'll be taking my AP mocks and actual tests, so if I do end up posting at a rlly random time that's most likely why. </p>
<p>Thank you everyone for the super nice comments! They really do keep me motivated to keep on going and I really appreciate all of the support! We're right at 300 kudos which is just so cool, thank you so much! (also the bookmarks crack me up so much) </p>
<p>To anyone struggling with school or life in general - you've got this! I know I'm very much a stranger but I hope you know this is a safe place - there are quite a few of those in this fandom, but also not as many as a lot of us need or would like to see. And this is pretty obvious but please treat everyone kindly in the comments. </p>
<p>Next update will be coming hopefully soon- and uh yeah, I apologize in advance :)<br/>Have a great weekend &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You planning on spending the whole night up here?"</p>
<p>George turned around sharply at the voice. That was not Philza. </p>
<p>Dream stood behind him, the trapdoor wide open beside his booted feet. As per usual, the mask was pulled over his face, leaving only his lips bare to the air. </p>
<p>"There isn't much left of it anyway," George murmured, tearing his gaze away from Dream back to the cauldron. "I wouldn't be missing much." Outside, dawn was beginning to paint the sky with light, glinting over billowing clouds.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't say that."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're almost there." Techno towered over the table, his crimson gaze meeting each and every eye in the room. George watched as the man leaned over the maps, sprawled across the tabletop in disarray. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The meeting had been going on for an eternity - more and more figures joining with each passing hour. They'd run out of chairs a while back, leaving the newcomers to melt into the walls or hang in through the open windows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Preparations for the siege are underway, and once the mission to the Nether is complete, we can finally make our advance." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the words, George's eyes flicked across the room to the shadowed corner he kept going back to. A bone-white plate smiled back at him and he held back an amused huff. Dream was tucked away against the planks, one boot resting behind him on the wall. He had melted into the shadows upon his arrival, and if George hadn't gotten there before Dream had, he doubted he would've been able to spot the man. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"-isn't that right, George?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I would advise you pay attention." Techno's eyes flashed and George nodded quick. Sapnap smirked from where he sat across the table, teasing him silently. "You've made progress on the potions?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George nodded. "I perfected the base." Techno raised a brow and he clarified, "Anything you want brewed, I can make." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno gave a satisfied nod, perhaps the closest thing he'd get to overwhelming praise from the leader. "Good. I know you've supplied some potions to the Nether team already, but we'll need more by dawn."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't wait for George's confirmation before turning to Puffy, pointing to a scribble on one of his curling maps. George sunk lower in his seat, turning his bored gaze to the window. The moon was just out of sight, hidden away behind the banister of wood. Beneath the frame, a pair of sapphire eyes gleamed at him from under a mop of blonde locks. Tommy waved and George smiled, hoping Techno wouldn't reprimand him for the hushed laughing. When he looked up carefully, a smiling mask greeted him for a split second before Dream was turning away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Heat flared in George's cheeks, and he focused his attention back to Techno, pushing away the onslaught of emotions that followed. Sapnap met his eyes with a knowing look and George swallowed hard. A ringing chime echoed in his ears. He held back a groan, leaning back in his chair. His mind was taunting him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The night was still young, but with the dawn of a new day would come a new set of trials. Techno and his Nether plans, for one. George thought the whole idea to be delusional. Sending the Camp's best fighters into the hell domain? It would mark the end of the entire rebel movement if something were to happen. And it was far too likely it would. The Nether had no mercy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno had briefed them early on when the sun was still a blistering ball in the sky. They would be taking a dozen of their people or so into the domain and would remain there for several days. Attempts at scouting missions had been made, and paths had been charted on their maps, but George wasn't convinced of Techno's assurances. Maps would burn in the nether, water would evaporate - whatever great resources they may find could easily be returned to the hellfire by the native mobs. Lives could be lost- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy hand clamped over his shoulder, grounding him in jarring reality. A smiling mask hung over him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Meeting's over." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's hand left his shoulder and George sucked in a breath, his hands gripping the blue folds of his cloak. "Oh."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We should head out." Dream jerked his chin to the doorway, and George followed his gaze blankly. Sapnap stood right outside the door, greeting an enthusiastic Karl. He almost smiled at the sight - barely catching himself before he gave the secret away. He wasn't supposed to know. He shouldn't have seen them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George. May we speak?" Techno stood beside the chair, gazing down at him with sharp intent. Dream snapped his gaze up to the ceiling and he felt a rush of guilt as Techno waited expectantly for an answer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream had been busy most of the day, having been caught in and out of meetings with Techno and the rest of the adventuring party. They'd missed their chance to train in the morning, something Dream barely had time to apologize for before he was whisked off with Sapnap and the rest of them. Too wired to go back to sleep, George spent the rest of the early morning moping around Philza's treehouse, vacant as the man slept in another house in the village. It was hard to admit to himself he'd been looking forward to their morning training. He needed that sense of normality in life again. That was the only reason, he told himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking up at Techno, George gave a small sigh. "Of course."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the words, Dream left the room, slipping out of the door without a second word. George watched him leave, wondering why it felt wrong to see him melt away so quickly into darkness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno pulled a chair out, descending in a flow of velvet and white fur. "Your potions, how many do you think you can make by tomorrow?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It depends on the type, but give or take, maybe a dozen? More if Philza has the supplies."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno hummed, his face unreadable as he considered the number. "Good." He paused, his gaze searing into the tabletop. George shifted in his seat at the sudden change. Techno set his jaw as he mused. "What do you think?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't understand-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of the plan," Techno waved his hand, a bitter twist to his lips as he spoke. "Is it- Do we stand a chance?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stopped short, staring at the man. It was almost as if he had plucked the doubts from George's very mind. Faintly, he wondered if he was that easy to read. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want the blunt truth or the one you need to hear?"  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno smiled at that, his canines digging into his upper lip. And for a second, he looked human. Worn thin and stretched far past his breaking point, yet still maintaining that constantly calm front. Techno was born to lead, he thought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why not both?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's suicide," He said and Techno nodded, his eyes downcast. "Chances of survival are low, you'll likely lose more men than you can spare right now, and no one comes out of the Nether the same. I know you understand that better than most." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno pulled a hand up his face, his fingers trailing past glittering chains and emerald earrings. The sharpened tips of his nails clinked against his circlet, his fingers digging into the gemstone set in the center. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And the words I want to hear?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If anyone can do this," George murmured, catching Techno's fickle gaze. "it's you and no one else. You don't get through hardship without a fight, and you've got the toughest army of them all. I don't care how many men the King has, how many soldiers he's indoctrinated, or how many enemies he's culled. You will always be stronger." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If only that was the truth," Techno laughed bitterly into his palm, staring up at the lanterns above. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"When did I say I was lying?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George smiled at Techno's blank face, standing in a rush. The open windows carried in a fleeting breeze and he pulled his cloak closer, relishing in the heat that sunk into his skin. Dawn was still hours away, which meant he had time for the potions. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-" Techno called and he turned back, already halfway out the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno sat haloed in tangerine light, seeping warmth into his weary form. Pink hair strewn over his shoulders, circlet digging into his forehead, he almost looked disheveled. George took a strange amusement to the sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course, Technoblade."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cornflowers bloomed over the table in a stunning puff of blue. Petals that sprouted like trumpets littered the countertops, covering his notes and slipping in between pages of scribbled nonsense. Niki had dropped the vase off earlier in the morning, greeting George with a cheerful smile and even kinder words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George picked a petal out from the cauldron, holding the delicate flake of blue to his nose. It was a different sort of scent - an earthy, somewhat saccharine one with something sharper underneath. It filled the treehouse with something other than the sickly sweet scent of melon, which George was eternally grateful for. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Six bottles of strength potions stood in a neat row beside him like soldiers, corked and swirling from deep plum to gold. The cauldron in front of him was almost cooled, the scarlet liquid brought to a warm simmer over dull coal. With the potions he made from his last brewing session, they would have more than enough to carry with them into the Nether. He was thinking of brewing a few more bottles, tinkering with the recipe to come up with a potion of fire resistance. Maybe, he thought, it would prove to help against the suffocating heat of the realm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The trapdoor creaked from behind, heaved open by a newcomer. George let them wander in, knowing it was Philza back from his talk with Techno. The piglin half-blood hadn't stopped in his endeavors, having been in and out of tactician meetings and detail work for the rest of the night. George wondered if he ever got sleep - he always seemed to be busy with some endeavor or another. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You planning on spending the whole night up here?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George turned around sharply at the voice. That was not Philza. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream stood behind him, the trapdoor wide open beside his booted feet. As per usual, the mask was pulled over his face, leaving only his lips bare to the air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There isn't much left of it anyway," George murmured, tearing his gaze away from Dream back to the cauldron. "I wouldn't be missing much." Outside, dawn was beginning to paint the sky with light, glinting over billowing clouds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pinkish-scarlet liquid pooled into the glass with ease, pebbles of hard gold visible at the bottom of the bottle. He shook the liquid idly before setting the bottle in a leather pack. It nestled snug against two strength potions, a small army of magical effects.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I wouldn't say that." George turned at the statement, watching as Dream came up beside him. His eyes trailed over the leather packs, a tightness to lips as he spoke, "Wilbur sent me up here to get you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur?" George grinned, knowing exactly what was coming next. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They're down at the tavern," Dream said and George almost laughed. There it was. "Wanted to spend one last night drunk as fools before we leave tomorrow at nightfall."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His smile fell. Raking over the potions, he wondered if it would be enough to keep them alive in there. His fingers twinged with something almost painful and he reached for the ladle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand on his wrist stopped him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've got a better idea," Dream whispered, a smile growing at the corners of his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George cocked his head at the man. "Oh yeah? Do tell."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's fingers burned on his skin, pushing the ladle down to the countertop until he was letting go. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I seem to recall a promise was made yesterday." Dream strode towards the center of the room, ducking past vines and lantern chains. George watched him move to the table, a grin growing on his lips as realization dawned on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream picked up his sword, holding the glinting blade to the light. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You want to train?" George arched an eyebrow, putting a show on despite the steady thrum in his veins. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you telling me you don't want to?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well I never said-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Or perhaps you're too out of shape," Dream offered, pulling the sword out. He swung it through the air, edging towards George with a cheeky grin. He laughed, staring in disbelief at the masked man. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you drunk?" He sputtered and Dream just grinned wider, his energy strangely addictive. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's go," He urged, tugging at George's sleeve. "Come on, we can make it there by sunrise."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What had gotten into you?" George muttered as he set aside his tools, shrugging on his cloak as Dream dropped down the rope ladders, George's sword in hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What? Do I have to have a reason now? Weren't you the one who wanted this?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes but, why are you, you know," He gestured wildly, hoping something in his flailing hands would translate over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're overthinking again, George," Dream sang low in his throat and George scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"When do I do that?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had no response, instead choosing to pull him further into the village and the woods. They tumbled past Karl's barn like shooting stars. The night was cool and dry, and George almost wished he had brought water as Dream took him higher and higher into the dark fields. The grass moved in tandem with the wind, swaying in some hypnotic dance as the blades rippled together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stood together on the hillside, shoulder to shoulder in the rising dawn. Round and red, the sun spilled rays onto the meadows. The wind was heavy, the clouds gathering in the distance like roiling waves. George hadn't seen anything prettier in his life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's shoulder knocked against his, his cloak whipping against George's knees with the wind's relentless push. He turned and stopped short. Dream's face was tilted up to the sky, the gentle curve of his cheeks disappearing under a smooth bend of bone white. The sun cast itself down upon his skin, bathing him in supple gold. George felt the oddest impulse to reach out for his cheek, to follow the curve down to his lips, cracking in the dry air. He wanted to dip down into the shallow divots in his cheeks, those dimples that he had never noticed before. How had he never noticed? The indents pooled golden light that ran into his smile, lighting George's heart aflame. He wanted to run his fingers through those locks, blown out of his face so effortlessly. He wanted to see if they were as soft as they looked. He wanted so much, it hurt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George?" Dream was smiling, and he was dying. "What are you looking at?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If I win this fight, will you take off your mask?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream scoffed, a harsh sort of laugh that must have hurt. George couldn't find it within himself to lie and say he was joking. And Dream knew. He waited for the scathing rejection, the rational, cold reaction of a man he had once hated. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure," Dream grinned, pressing the warm hilt of his sword into George's hands. Their hands knocked together in a clash of knuckles slotting against skin. Then, his fingers were wrapping around his weapon, and they stumbled back from each other, blazing in the tall grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lost round one. Then round two. And three, and four, and five, and all the rest. But somehow, as he listened to Dream's heckling calls, and the occasional reprimanding reminder to keep his sword high, he couldn't find it within himself to care. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sharp ring of steel was ripped from their blades as a gust blew by, ruthless and uncaring. Dream stumbled forward with the wind dragged him by the cloak. He brought his sword up, but George was ready for the onslaught and kicked out low, catching him against the leather of his boots. Dream went down in a flurry of limbs and George crowed over his still form. If they weren't holed up in the tavern, drinking their worries away into blind happiness, George was sure the rebels would have heard his high laughter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream rolled over to stare at the sky, flinging his arms out at his side. Flecks of grass stuck to his rosy cheeks. He stayed down, waiting until George's laughs settled in his aching stomach before he spoke. "We're done for the day, I think. There's a storm brewing close." And sure enough, out near the edge of the forest, past the sleepy village, great clouds plumed high above the trees. No matter how energized he was, there was no point in fighting past a windstorm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped the sword an arm’s length away before falling to the ground beside Dream. The grass pillowed under his head, brushing against his cheeks and hanging over his head in great sweeps of green. They watched the clouds bloom above, catching their breath in the silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry for dragging you up here." George turned, watching as Dream picked at his hands. "I understand how… enthusiastic I was."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed at that. "That's a way to put it, sure."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had the faintest inkling Dream had rolled his eyes as he leaned back into the grass, flicking his chin up. "I was worried," He murmured, opening his mouth to say more. He seemed to decide against it at the last moment, and George frowned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Just some stuff Sapnap and I talked about."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"On your mission together?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Quit calling them missions." He was smiling now, something far too fragile to enjoy. "It's just that… We don't have much time left before it all happens, you know? I have so much that I want to do, things I want to say and see and live." He looked at him then, just for a moment, and George thought there was more than he wanted to unpack behind those words. "I've been too cautious, too scared. Sap just kind of… made that clear to me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence draped over them so heavy it was suffocating. He almost turned away, would have closed his eyes, and drifted in the sea of endless sky, but as the grass rained petals on his body, he forgot about the tension. Blue flakes flew by on the wind, tumbling down onto the grass splayed out beneath their legs. The trumpet petals of cornflowers shot by like cobalt bees and he plucked one from the sky as it spiraled. Soft and sweet against his palm, a strange feeling bloomed in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, Dream picked a petal off of his cloak, and another out of his hair, his lips thinning as more flowers blew by. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They're not going to hurt you," George scoffed, and Dream looked up from the small pile he was gathering on the grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hand stuttered against the grass, fingers dragging across the blue petals almost hesitantly. He picked a blue bud between his fingers, the partially intact flower so small in his calloused hands. Then, he was tucking the bloom behind George's ear, the feel of his hand rough against his cheek. And George couldn't breathe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream took one look at him and burst into laughter, offering some teasing remark. George didn't hear it. The sun caught Dream in a delicate moment, haloed in ivory light for seconds that felt like hours in his shattering mind. A sudden, terrible confusion struck him.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When had the thoughts of burning hatred boiled away, steeped into anticipation? When had the fleeting glances turned into admiration, then shameless, reckless awe? Above all, he wanted to know, how one person could consume every thought in his head and every breath in his aching chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wind stung his cheeks. The petals tingled against his skin. George couldn't breathe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thunder clapped above them and he jolted, his bones coming alive. It was raining. It had been, for a while. Dream's hands were fisted in his cloak, bunched up too tight. His knuckles were pale. Icy rain fell in sheets around them, but they didn't move. George couldn't bring himself to. Not while the world fell to pieces around him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against his neck. George stiffened, staring in speechless shock at the other. His lips were numb. His tongue was on fire. The words were so simple, so easily whispered, or spoken, or screamed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shuddered as the rain pelted down around them, tiny shards of diamond that ripped into his throat, shredding his voice. Dream’s fingers skittered down his neck, gripping his shirt, and George caught the pained twist of his lips. He looked down and understood. The fabric stuck to his chest, translucent and glowing in the storm. Slashes of red and white curving over his skin, like brush strokes hidden under the linen. Down his chest, over his back, circling his wrists. Years of torment, carved into the pale canvas, each mark as deliberate as the next. Dream's eyes trailed over the raised scars, his grip too tight on George’s arm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Who did that to you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream," He sighed shakily. Dream knew. How could he not? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he pressed on, "No, who did that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know.” His hands scuttled across the sodden grass, searching for his discarded cloak. The wind tore up the world, ripping away the walls between them. There was no hiding. He stared at Dream, pleading silently for him to drop it. His wrists ached. He felt sick. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious, George-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who do you think did this Dream?” He barked, wincing as Dream flinched. Fingers retreated as if burned, scalding shame rising in splotches up Dream’s neck.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They look so new.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not.” It was whispered in the middle of the storm, two broken words fracturing amidst clashes of thunder and lightning. He pulled his arms close, wishing he could disappear with the clouds. “They used whips." He whispered. Then, the dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush. "Had a particular hatred towards children, which is why the older workers kept us out of sight for as long as possible. Until you turned fifteen. Then you were on your own. It was fine, at first, I had someone looking out for me in there." The Captain's reassuring grin flashed in his mind and he screwed his eyes shut, willing the image away. "Until I screwed up with the guards. Then they separated me from him. After a while, I knew I couldn't stay there - I had to get out, and to get out-" He swallowed thickly. "I had to deal with the guards."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What did you do to them?" It was almost too quiet to hear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There were mobs beneath the mines," George recalled, his shaking hands pulled to his chest. He had never told this story. He wasn't sure he wanted to. But the wind battered him around, pulling the words from his lips. "They would venture up the mineshafts sometimes. Some old miner always had to deal with it. I- I killed my first spider when I was sixteen.” He wanted to stop there, to pretend for a second that the words he spoke were spun from silver and sand. “Brewed my first poison potion right after." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There's acid on his fingers, flaking his skin away as he grasps onto the pickaxe. Guards are yelling at him, they're screeching down the halls. He can't stop running. The pickaxe is sticky with blood. His cheeks are wet. The slumped-over body of the guard lies on the floor behind him, that sick and sadistic smile brought into the afterlife. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They caught me at the entrance to the mines. The King's guardsmen came to my cell afterward, the cruel ones. The commanders, the honored - the favored. They taught me a lesson, told me I was an abomination, and never stopped." He paused, the ghost a smile on his lips. "I didn't even get to see the sun," He laughed, eyes cloudy. Some deep part of him ached, something tender and small tucked between his ribs. Dream stared at him, raindrops dripping off of his mask. He exhaled. Golden locks barely tarnished by rain, curving cheeks, and scarlet lips, Dream was the sun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We're done here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George froze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Dream swiped his sword from the grass, flicking the water from it with a single twist. He didn’t look at George when he left, trudging down the hillside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got up on paper legs, throwing himself after him.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You've had enough practice. Ask Sapnap if you want a partner."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George stumbled after him, heart thundering in his throat. The rain was thick between them, smudging Dream into a smear of green, and George glared at the man, wiping water from his eyes. Magma seared his tongue red hot. "So what? You're just giving up on me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream whipped around sharply, ghostly and distant. "Drop it, George."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His mask was crying, rain sliding off the pale surface, down to his neck. George stalked forward, his fists trembling at his sides. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You can't do this to me-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What part of we're </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you not get?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>George saw red. He lunged forward, falling through curtains of rain as the meadow shook around him. Dream reeled back, but he was too late. George pulled him in by his cloak, wrenching him forward. They slipped on the mud, boots crying out as the earth came alive beneath their feet. There were hands on his shoulders, shoving him off, but George held on through the waves. The terrible sound of seams ripping apart speared through the storm, and he stared at his hands, full of green velvet. The rest of the cloak was seized by the storm, thrown high into the flashing sky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream jumped back as if slapped, and he jerked away, almost falling back into the weeping meadow. His shirt was soaked through, water dripping down his chin to pool in the hollow of his throat. George's eyes traveled down freckled skin, following the strong lines and soft curves until they found his chest. With a tortured sound, Dream’s hand flew up to clasp his neck, but it was too late.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Raised, red flesh stared back at George like a parasite, throbbing on the ashy skin. A crown of thorns, twisting just above his collarbone to his neck. George's grip loosened on the cloak. The Royal Insignia of the King taunted him, brought to life from the memories that haunted him at night. The distorted crack of whips rang in his ears, lighting his back on fire as rain pounded down. Bile rose in his throat and it took all of his strength not to fall to the grass.    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Teeth glinted at him, cheeks scarlet. The brand pulsated. The thorny crown mocked him. Dream shoved his hand away, ignoring the sharp crack of his wrist. The torn cloak fell from his grip, slumping to the muddy ground where it lay still. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> away from me, George." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was gone then, a dot of black or blue or green - George couldn't tell. Everything blurred together as the pieces shoved against each other, warring for reason. Why did he do this? How could he do this? George had trusted him - he had done much more than that, and Dream had betrayed him. The thought made him sick. Sinking to his knees in the grass, George splintered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream was a Branded. He served the King. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And George was in love with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'M SORRY LMFAO </p>
<p>The big reveal is upon us. And whew that was kind of a lot of information to digest. Just to clarify in case anyone is confused (because it was only mentioned in the very first couple of chapters with the guards in the Imperial mines) the King's trusted guard have the brand of the King seared into their necks to signify their loyalty to the King. Thus, George is shocked to find out that Dream is one of those branded when he claimed to fight in the battlefields against the King's troops. And knowing George's history with the King - wow ouch. </p>
<p>We also learned a bit more about George's backstory in the mines and also Technoblade's more human side woo! </p>
<p>So yes in conclusion: pain :) </p>
<p>I hope everyone has a great weekend! Next week's chapter should be up a little earlier I think - this one just took a bit longer because it's longer than the chapters I usually write. Comments &amp; kudos are always appreciated, and thank you for all the support! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There was a sharp rap at his door and George shot up, the sigh caught in his throat so suddenly he might have choked. The blankets tangled between pale limbs as the door creaked open, fanning light across the room. </p>
<p>Wilbur stood in the doorway, bathed in brilliant light. A sad smile lifted his lips. </p>
<p>"Hey, Gogy. It's been a while." </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Burns, flashbacks, implied self-harm </p>
<p>If you are sensitive to any of these themes, please be mindful when reading this and make the best choice for your wellbeing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They didn't speak. Not when George caught a glimpse of green dipping into Techno's cabin, not when a bone-white face flickered on by, not even when he caught that smiling mask staring at him across the meeting room, boring into him from the shadowed corner. It was a game at this point - though he hated to play it, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Techno swept past his chair, the ends of his cape swishing against the floor smoothly, and George realized with a jolt how far his mind was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should be paying attention, lingering onto every word Techno spoke, hanging onto every thread of a thin detail - that was how lives were saved, after all. But he couldn't collect his thoughts. His head cursed his heart, yanking on the strings just to get something out of him, but there was nothing left to give. He was empty. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spite and anger and fear and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pain </span>
  </em>
  <span>tore his mind into fragments, freezing every thought into icy detachment. Get too close to the ideas and he'd burn up, scream, cry, laugh - he didn't know what he'd do. He should hate Dream. He should despise him for the silver-coated lies he so readily spewed. But anger was a fickle flame, all too quickly extinguished by the torrent of grief. However much he wished the rain would come to wash the memories away, it was impossible to forget what he had seen on that hillside, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The insignia of the King, burned into the expanse of Dream's skin for the next eternity - the sight disgusted him. And yet with every passing glimpse of the mask, his heart burned against his ribs, steady and strong like smoldering coal.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It made him sick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then, all too soon and yet not quick enough, Dream was gone. Riding away on a chestnut mare, Sapnap beside him, he disappeared into the smoky treeline with the expedition group. He didn't look back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The days that followed were a blur. George didn't sleep, not by choice, but because every time he closed his eyes, ghostly images painted horrors on his eyelids. Burning hell flame all around, the screech of souls trapped in scorching sand, the squealing gasps of the hulking mobs descending to pools of swirling lava below - the Nether never left his mind. Neither did the small figure, cloaked in all green and masked, that traipsed through his thoughts, passing flames and ghastly mobs as if he was born for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Karl tried to help, as did Fundy, but even now, staring into a cauldron of steaming grey, George couldn't recall anything they did. Faintly, he thinks they went to the forest clearing. Maybe they shot at the archery targets, or perhaps they had sitten down to talk. Karl had probably told him not to worry, that Dream would be back in no time, and George had sat there, a lump in his throat as he nodded numbly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Guilt wracked him until he couldn't breathe, sitting in a field of grey. Karl had just as much to worry about. He hadn't forgotten what he had seen on that night, passing by the barn house. And yet he was all smiles and reassurance, a thin mask to hide his trembling hands, his uncertain eyes. And George felt terrible for it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The smell of searing flesh burnt his nose and he yelped, yanking his hand to his chest before he even felt the pain. The skin of his hand was fiery red, marred in angry burns. He cursed roughly as the wound sparked with heat. Tears pricked his eyes as salt dripped to his hand, practically sizzling upon ruined ivory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The cauldron still burned before him, flames licking up the curve of the soot-stained metal, and his eyes tracked over the flickering tongues of red and yellow. Dream would be bathing in the flames by now, he thought, the heat of the fire leaching into his skin. They would be looking for netherite, fending off stray mobs as their team tore into the fleshy walls of the Nether, mining past veins of gold and rock to find the sparsely scattered ore. It would tip the fight in their favor, he knew, but no grand visions of shimmering swords or armor could quell the unease bubbling up his throat. It only took one fireball from a ghast. One stray hit to a pigman. One misstep into pools of swirling lava. One second for it to all end. He reached out for the curve of the pot. The burn flared with pain.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George! </span>
  <em>
    <span>George-</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A clatter sounded out before he was pulled back, a hand curled into his shirt. George fell back against a solid chest, the breath knocked out of him in a rush. Feathers hung over his eyes, bristled and sticking out in jagged tufts. Stormy grey and ruffled, they looked wind-torn. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil pulled him to the table and George frowned, hiding his hand behind his back. The leather grip of his sword pommel grazed the wound and he inhaled sharply. Cobalt eyes glared into his as he sat heavily at the table. Phil stood over him, grey feathers fanned out to the ceiling in a display more terrifying than beautiful.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cobalt melted into his skin, pouring blazing judgment over him, and he grit his teeth at Phil. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you thinking, man?" Phil's eyes were bright under the brim of his hat. "What was that?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George had no answer, and Phil knew. Words stuck thick in his throat, but it didn't matter much anyway. One look at the man revealed the simple truth - no amount of words, however dressed up they were, wouldn't help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're getting yourself hurt. I know you're worried about Dream, but that doesn't excuse carelessness." He leaned over, wiry form suddenly grand in the darkening room. "Get yourself together. We need you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Please," He scoffed. It was a perilous game to play - living in the fiction that he knew more than Phil did, but the feeling was addictive. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Something you'd like to say?" Silence ballooned between them, as fragile as glass. Phil's hands shook and he breathed low and deep. "This isn't like you, George. You're better than this, I know you-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, do you?" He laughed, but it came out cruel, a clap of jarring thunder before rainfall. "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick </span>
  </em>
  <span>of people thinking they know anything about me." The chair squealed sharply as he stood, drawn up against the mural of stormy grey wings and blazing blue eyes. Phil said nothing. "Do you really know me? Do you really think you can trust me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George, come on-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blinded by burning tears, George smiled. He was cracking, splitting apart at the seams, leaving his insides to spill out onto the tabletop. "You don't know anything, Phil, and you're a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fool </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you think you do."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil's face dropped. Blazing blue smoldered as he looked away quickly, a thin frown curving his lips. Magnificent wings drooped suddenly, falling as if shot, and George's stomach plummeted. Phil's hands shook at his sides, and George wondered faintly if he had been wrong. If maybe, Phil had never been mad at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I- I'm sorry. That wasn't fair-" He stumbled back, legs knocking heavily into the chair legs. The jolt carved rivers down his cheeks. Phil was quiet. The room blurred around him, closing in like hissing chains, and his legs sparked. Run, his brain seemed to scream, pitching the idea into the furthest depths of his mind until it was all he could think. Run. Run. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Run</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"George." A large hand cupped his face, swiping tears back across his cheekbone. Warmth seeped into his skin, chasing away the biting cold, and he shuddered through a shaky breath. Phil's hand lingered, grounding him in a sudden reality. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The one person who had welcomed him as if he were one of his sons - a part of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and George had hurt him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil hushed him quickly, his thumb circling George's cheek softly. His throat was torn apart with every trembling breath he took, threatening to split him open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey," A soft voice drew him from his thoughts, ringing clear like the toll of a bell. "What happened, George?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What had happened? Too much to understand, too much to bear. Knees weak with exhaustion, he stumbled forward and Phil caught him in a swift hug. Broken sobs wracked his frame weak until he couldn't speak. Words didn't translate to the rift in his chest. They couldn't illustrate the sleepless nights, couldn't describe the restless days. His tongue was tied up in knots too complex for his brain to sort, and the gaping hole in his heart was growing too large to handle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feathers wrapped around him, brushing against wet cheeks softly. He looked up to see a barrier of grey surrounding him, pulling warmth from the lantern glow into his weary bones. Gathered up in Phil's arms, he had never felt safer. Almost greedily, he sunk into the green robes, relishing in the brief moment until his heart was ready to burst into clouds.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Come on, mate," Phil whispered, still holding him tight. "Let's get you sorted."   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tears dried on flushed cheeks as Phil bandaged his hand securely, smearing a thick poultice on the burn. It was speckled with crimson dots, spanning down his pinky to the side of his palm. Phil didn't let go of him, always keeping some form of contact, whether it be his long fingers holding his hand still or a stray feather dipping down to brush his face softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He lied to me." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil looked up sharply and George sucked in a breath. He hadn't meant to speak - he could barely catch his breath, but the whisper had just come out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Who did?" Phil tied off his bandage, keeping his eyes low. George had a feeling he already knew. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dream." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Phil sighed and George pursed his lips. There was no shock in his tone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You knew? About his… the brand?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not by his choice. You seem to forget who the first healer around these parts was," Phil smiled wanly as he left the poultice jar on the counter. "And Dream, while deliberate, is not careful."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And you didn't think to tell me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It wasn't my tale to tell.  I thought you of all people could understand that-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>"He lied,</span> <span>Phil, right to my face. He told me he fought against the King. He- he was </span><em><span>with </span></em><span>the King. He was one of the trusted!" </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know, kid." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Was I a fool?" He buried his head into his hands, his nails pressed against his skin. A thousand questions bubbled in his brain, each one piling on top of the next. "To think I thought he trusted me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Talk to him," Phil spoke softly, cocking his head at George. He went rigid, snapping up straight from where he sat on the countertop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Absolutely not."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You know what the King did to me. And that bastard served him. He-" His eyes glazed over, the words foreign on his tongue. "He was part of the soldiers, the same ones who killed my parents. Dream is no better than a murderer - a traitor. Techno shouldn't keep him here. Does he even know where Dream's loyalties lie? What if he's been speaking with the King, telling him all of the plans-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>George</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Stop this, right now." Phil's hand latched onto his arm, pulling his eyes to blazing cobalt, and his words died on his tongue. "I know you have not been here long, so I'll forgive it this one time, but don't do that. Don't question Techno. He knows much more than you give him credit for. If Dream wasn't loyal to the rebels, he wouldn't be here; Techno would make sure of that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," George whispered. And he did. Dream had done nothing but hide the mark. He never hurt him, not on purpose. He was the first to extend an olive branch. He did nothing but exist under the guise of stern words and burning looks. And somewhere along the line, George had stopped caring that he couldn't see him. Even without knowing his face, he knew who Dream was. Or - that was what he thought.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Come here, kid." Arms pulled him into another hug and George sighed as fingers carded through his hair. His forehead knocked into Phil's chest as he held him there, letting the minutes slip by. Faintly, he wondered when the last time he had been hugged had been. Perhaps by his mother, eons ago when their village still stood and he had been happy. Maybe his father had slung an arm around him while they sorted his library one dusky mid-summer evening. He wondered if they knew what would happen to them. Sometimes, he wondered if it would have changed a thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ask him," Phil whispered, ignoring George's wide-eyed gaze. "When he's back from the trip. You two need to talk." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to protest, but Phil caught him with a look of his own.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"For now, you're going to bed." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The command took him by surprise and he almost laughed, and if not for the seriousness of Phil's gaze he thinks he would have. "Phil, I'm grown, I don't need to go to bed." Phil leaned back to stare down at him, fixing an impossibly unimpressed look upon him, and George whined petulantly at the man.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amusement glittered in his eyes as he shook his head, "Jesus, you sound just like Tommy. Nope, I won't hear a single word from you for the rest of the night, okay? Off to bed with you, you've been up here too many nights. Don't think I haven't noticed."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes leaden, he looked down. Crescent divots wore into his skin as his nails dug into his palms. "I- I can't sleep, Phil." The man paused and he continued before he could stop himself. "I haven't been able to since I found out."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, mate." Phil's sigh was heavy enough to drag him into the Earth. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know," He admitted softly, and Phil pursed his lips, ruffling his hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry about that for now, okay? I'll take care of it. Go on back to your place, and please, try not to fall off the rope ladders when you go down."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled weakly at that, nodding, and Phil pulled him back for one more hug. He squeezed as tight as he could until George could feel his fragmented mind bind together just a little bit more. And it felt good. It felt right. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he was in bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling blankly. The sheets scratched against his icy skin like pins. If it was difficult to escape his thoughts before, now they were inescapable. There were flecks of sparse gold sprinkled across his bed from many days before, and they winked at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Calloused hands dragged up his cheeks. A smile hung before him, perfectly cut like the crescent moon. There's warmth led by gentle fingers that trailed over his face so delicately he might shatter at any moment. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And George wants to cry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turned sharply, cheek pressed against the cool sheets. He couldn't stand the thought of him. The memory dispersed, scattered by the sudden cold. There was gritty gold in his hair now. His pillow was somewhere on the floor, a result of his restless turning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Resting on the bedside table was a blur of budding cornflowers. They burst out in great puffs of blue that shone almost purple in the dim light. Courtesy of Niki, he mused as a single petal broke off of the bud. It fell to the ground in a flash of cobalt and he winced as his mind conjured visions of cobalt eyes, widened in shock. Philza's face appeared before him, contorted. The first person to welcome him into the rebels, the first to show him any sense of compassion or warmth. Phil had treated him as a son, and his repayment had been spite. Shame grew hot and angry on his cheeks and he pulled his hands up, shielding himself from his thoughts. A shuddering, shaky sound escaped him, hissing freely into the night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sharp rap at his door and George shot up, the sigh caught in his throat so suddenly he might have choked. The blankets tangled between pale limbs as the door creaked open, fanning light across the room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur stood in the doorway, bathed in brilliant light. A sad smile lifted his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Gogy. It's been a while." </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it had, hadn't it? He hadn't seen Wilbur in days. Not since Dream and the others left. Not since he was supposed to meet with them in the tavern instead of training on the hill. The thought of the hillside made him wince. He flicked his gaze across the room, away from the too-bright light. What might have happened if he went to the tavern with Dream instead? He was playing a dangerous game with imagination, but George couldn't help but wonder. Would they be dizzy on cinnamon whiskey, heads high up in the clouds? Would they have stumbled home leaning on each other to stay upright, giggling at nothing and feeling everything? Would something have happened to change the pain?  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We missed you at the tavern," Wilbur whispered and he glanced back, taking a real look at him. The light from the hallway carved shadows across his features like a statue, smooth against sharp angles. He was sans guitar tonight, which struck him as unusual. Nevertheless, Wilbur looked well - and George shrunk in on himself at the thought of what he must look like.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His shirt, too big for his frame, pooled off of one shoulder, leaving his pale skin painted in the milky silver sheen of the moon. He hadn't slept in days and he knew Wilbur could see it in the ebony smears under his eyes and the sudden gauntness in the hollows of his cheeks. But when he looked up, there was no sense of judgment in his bright eyes. Only a distinct hope to reach him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I missed you too." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur's face crumpled at the hushed words and he left the door. Still gaping open, it spilled buttery light across the floor and up onto his bed, carving out a wide square of gold on the wrinkled sheets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took a seat beside the bed, on an old rickety stool that had been graciously offered to him. George remained curled up on the sheets, holding himself together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Phil sent me," Wilbur murmured softly, his melodic voice in perfect tandem with the quiet of the night.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, Phil would have known he'd still be up. He nodded, refusing to tear his eyes from the crumpled sheets. "I assumed." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's worried about you, Gogy. We all are."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brown eyes melted like chocolate. "You've made friends here, remember? Glorious dissenters and all that," Wilbur cracked a smile and George nodded, the sudden blazing scent of cinnamon fiery in his nose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry to-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand on his arm hushed him quickly. "Don't be." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes trailed over Wilbur's knuckles, the smooth skin in such contrast against his papery hands. He'd distanced himself recently, physically and emotionally. After all, if he wasn't there at all, how could he get hurt? It wasn't fair to them, he realized as Wilbur shifted back, a pained glint to his gaze. They deserved more than what he had to give. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want to talk about it?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He swallowed thickly, feeling his heart plummet to the depths of his roiling stomach. Clumsy words danced across his tongue, a jumbled mess of questions he was too afraid to ask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not really." And before Wilbur could finish nodding, he was tilting his head up to the ceiling. "It just doesn't feel real. I- it isn't meant to be like this, you know? It shouldn't be so… so </span>
  <em>
    <span>screwed</span>
  </em>
  <span>." He could feel Wilbur's hand on his, grounding in the terrible clash of his thoughts. "Stories aren't supposed to be like this - I- that sounds stupid," he huffed, "but my father's books never ended like this. Not with pain or confusion or heartbre-" He stopped short, suddenly aware of what he was saying. Heat bloomed under his skin, sprouting up his neck to his face. If Wilbur hadn't heard from Phil, he knew now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Who's to say this is the end?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George turned to Wilbur, meeting his glittering eyes. The half-blood leaned back in his chair, tilting his head up to the ceiling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I have a feeling we have long to go before we reach the end," He smiled, and perhaps the statement shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You think?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur grinned his Cheshire smile, and a strange sense of nostalgia struck him. "Trust me. I'm usually right about these sorts of things."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Right," George rolled his eyes, a smile crinkling his cheeks the slightest bit.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah." He stopped for a second, meeting George's eyes with sudden seriousness. "Hey, George?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmm?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He'll get his head on straight, okay? He just needs some time. Wait for him."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And in the meanwhile," Wilbur's grin softened as he pulled his hand up, waiting a split second for permission before he brushed his fingers against George's cheeks. They came back wet and he whisked the tears away quickly. "No need to be sad anymore," Wilbur whispered, his fingers cold against George's skin. He glanced to the right, grinning at the pot of cornflowers blooming beside him. A single flower was twirled into his fingers and he slipped the blossom behind George's ear. The petals tickled his cheek, the ghostly feeling of calloused fingers warm on his skin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Laughter bubbled out of his chest, his eyes prickling at the gesture. "Thank you, Wil."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur's eyes widened and he flashed his teeth. "You called me Wil!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I guess so." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He threw his head back in a laugh and George cracked a smile, smearing the rest of the tears away until they disappeared into the air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Wil?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, Gogy?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Will you…" Heat bloomed in his cheeks as Wilbur waited for him to continue. He couldn't believe he was about to ask this. Swallowing what little pride he had left, George whispered, "Will you sing me something?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur's eyes widened and George waited for the laughter, looking away sharply. The chair creaked as he settled back, his gaze soft. "Of course."   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George kept quiet as Wilbur cleared his throat. Brown eyes glimmered through the rainbow as dulcet tones filled the night. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him until the husky voice stole his thoughts away, spinning his worries into soft song.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And for the first night since Dream had left, George slept through the night. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy weekend! or Golden Week for everyone in Japan :)) </p>
<p>Bit more of a chill chapter for today with lots and lots of Dadza to repay for the angst that was the last chapter. (and a musical appearance from Wilbur!! Which reminds me - if any of you are caught up on recent lore - cough cough Tommy's stream then pLS yELL WiTH ME ABOUT IT) </p>
<p>In other very random unrelated news, my big APs are next week so I may be taking a bit more time with the updates from now on. Thanks for understanding and thank you to everyone for the support &lt;33 </p>
<p>Have a wonderful week and thank you for reading! Comments &amp; Kudos are always appreciated :))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"If you don't tell me what's going on right now, Fundy, I'll-" </p>
<p>"It's Dream." </p>
<p>George's voice died on his tongue and he gaped at the half-blood, frozen in place. "What?" </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Scars, injuries, blood, vomiting </p>
<p>If you are sensitive to any of these themes, please be mindful when reading this and make the best choice for your wellbeing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An awful pounding tore him away from his dreams, the last whispers of sweet voices dispersing in a puff. George flailed amid clouds of pillows and sheets, tangled in the silky white. He hadn't been asleep for long. Outside, stars speckled the sky, little freckles of light against the backdrop of smooth ebony. It was early - too early. Phil had mentioned working on potions to him prior, but the man never woke him up for lessons - that had been Dream's move. He crushed that thought before it could grow. It wasn't Dream. The pounding came again, louder this time, and George mumbled a gruff curse. He was going to kill whoever was outside his room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George! Open the door!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy, it would seem. Though… something was off. They hadn't spoken in a while - not since Karl dragged him out of the treehouse in an attempt to keep him from moping. It hadn't been successful, but there was little surprise there. The banging came again and George threw the blankets off of his frame, sucking in a sharp breath as the cold sunk into his skin. Fundy never paid him visits this early - and there was something about the sharp raps of his knuckles against the door that unsettled him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He flung open the door, avoiding the next swing of Fundy's hand. The man looked distraught, lips open mid-yell. George was met with a flash of white teeth, and his eyes fixed on the fangs that bit into Fundy's lower lip, indenting the pink skin softly. His hair was sticking up, his ears bristling atop orange locks, and George trailed over his face with a growing frown. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fundy?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand latched onto his arm and he hissed as sharpened nails dug into the crook of his elbow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fundy what-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You need to come quick- Techno's house, right now!" With the rushed, half-broken sentences, Fundy pulled him out of the room. They were halfway down the hallway before George fully woke up. He stopped rigidly, hanging back in the doorway as the wind bit into his cheeks. Fundy was relentless, tugging him through, and a spark of irritation flared in his chest. What was so demanding that he was needed before the sun was? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"If you don't tell me what's going on right now, Fundy, I'll-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's Dream." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George's voice died on his tongue and he gaped at the half-blood, frozen in place. "What?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's injured, hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, George. Phil's there now, but- they're saying he needs you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wind whistled sharply, and George let Fundy drag him down the path. His stomach reeled with a sudden sickness, lurching up his throat. There were no other thoughts in his head than a howling panic - a terrible realization as the words cut open his brain and burrowed into his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn't even known the expedition team was returning today- there hadn't been any word from Techno or the other members. If they were back in such a rush, it had to be bad. The possibilities were endless and all were horrifying. The Nether was notoriously brutal, and its inhabitants ruthless. George's legs burned as they sprinted down the path. He barely recognized the surroundings before they were bursting through the doors to Techno's manor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A crowd of shadowed people was pooled into the single room, taking up every corner and crevice. A broken scream sounded out from within the mass and George's heart jarred to a wrenching stop. He could barely see, his vision marred with black spots as he lurched past bodies, bumping into arms and sides. The shadows broke to reveal a tall figure hunched over the grand table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took George a second to recognize him. Techno was a mess. His crown was missing, the golden ring absent from his forehead, and there was blood spattered across his face, drying in flakes of crimson down his neck. It was crusted on the fur of his cloak, which was singed and dirtied beyond the cloudy white it once was, and the sleeves of his shirt were torn at the shoulders. He had never seen Techno so disheveled. It unnerved him more than he thought possible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno's appearance was quickly overlooked when he saw the black. Smudged and smoky and dripping off of his hands, Techno was covered in the oozing substance. It was almost like blood, blackened in soot and coal. A wretched gasp tore itself from his throat as he realized what it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"George-" Techno gasped, recognition sparking in his crimson eyes. A whimpering groan interrupted the man and George turned his gaze downwards, eyes widening in horror. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Under Techno's hands, covered by the tattered crimson cloak, was a figure. He hadn't seen them in the midst of the surrounding crowd, but as George trailed over cloaks stained black with blood, he wondered numbly how he could ever miss him. Dream was laid out on the table, legs hanging loosely off of the wooden edge. His arm was dead weight on the table beside him, sleeves torn off to reveal a gruesome mess of blistering, black skin. A gaping wound slashed down his forearm bubbled black blood onto the table, pooling in a sticky, tar-like puddle. His veins were inky black, pulsing under his skin like writhing worms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A litany of curses left George's lips. He shoved past the people, throwing himself against the table. The wound pulsated with every skip of Dream's heartbeat, the inky veins throbbing under his skin. The darkness was spreading up his arm in tendrils, already spanning up to his shoulder. Someone had shoved a coil of leather in Dream's mouth, but the strap did little to muffle his broken whimpers and pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Please-" Dream gasped wetly, his eyes screwed shut. His mask was barely kept strapped to his face. The bone-white curve was skewed sideways, tilting off his skin to expose the strong bridge of his nose, the corner of his eye. He was deathly pale. Tears streamed down his face, snaking down the dip of his collarbone as he writhed on the table. The people around could barely hold him down, pressing in close around them to push him to the table. "George!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He jolted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream's eyes were screwed shut as he screamed, shaking uncontrollably. He threw his head back against the wood, pleading hysterically, "George, please-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Staring down at the bubbling black spewing out onto the table, he swallowed thickly past the mindless panic. His father's stories came back to him in a flash. Holes for eyes as dark as night, the grating cry of a mob that cried shadows, the hollow clattering of bones filled with sludge - the story came to life before him, a skeletal form sculpted from the depths of the Nether.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream had been withered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Possibly the worst of the Nether's inhabitants were the Wither Skeletons. Said to be the stray skeletons who had ventured into the hell realm, they were burned in the flames of the domain. Marrow turned sludge, bone turned soot, they carried weapons dipped in their own poison. If hit by their swords, you would die within the day. The Withers would turn blood to tar and fill up your veins until your heart pumped black into your brain. His father never dwelled on the monsters for long - no one did. As far as he had been concerned, they were nothing more than a tall tale spun to scare children into behaving. But as Dream cried out his name, black bubbling from his wound, it was undeniable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream had been withered. And if George didn't act now, he would die.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno gripped onto his arm, leaving bright streaks of blood on his shirt. “George, we tried your potions they didn’t work-“ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no surprise there. There was little from the overworld that could withstand the Nether's horrors. Of course, there were ways, but those potions were made with ingredients from the Nether itself. Blaze rods, magma cream, ghast tears, those were the key to surviving the Nether. Even with ingredients from the Nether itself, some mobs like the dreaded Wither Skeletons were built to withstand even the strongest of cures. Stuck in the overworld, they were entirely outmatched. That wasn't to say survival was out of the question. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-" Dream gasped and his gaze caught a golden-green eye, twisted in agony. Deep, red gouges cut into Dream's jaw and cheeks - a lingering present from whatever other horrors they had faced in the realm of fire. His arm lay limp beside him, twitching slightly. There was a thick layer of one of Philza's poultices smeared atop the wound, but it was doing little to help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George," Dream's free hand drew up and latched onto his. His skin was clammy and cold, his fingers a trembling mess atop his own. "It hurts," He breathed, and George felt his heart splinter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hushed him softly, cradling his hand close. "You're okay. You're going to be okay." He couldn't tell if Dream even heard him, the toll of his heart ringing too loud in his ears. "I'm sorry," George whispered, his voice breaking. "I never should have let you go."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their fingers slid against each other, tangling in death's grip. There was black blood smeared over his skin, painting ugly streaks against pale skin like cracks across the desert sand. Dream dragged him in with the slightest tremble of his hand. "This isn't your fault. It never was." His lips quivered, forming words that cut deeper than knives. "I don't have much time, George-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shut up," He gasped, his grip tightening around Dream's hand. "Listen to me, you're not going anywhere. You're going to be okay, you hear me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Dream screamed, a half-broken cry of agony. Tears slipped over his cheeks like shards of sapphire, sparkling down the curve of his blood-stained cheek. "I need to-" The fingers curled around his palm tightened rigidly as Dream's eyes widened. As if someone had cut the strings of a marionette, he stopped short, his words dying on his tongue. The room was silent, but all George could hear was endless, agonizing noise. Thick tar seeped out of Dream's mouth, and with a horrified gasp, he knew he was too late. Black lips curved to form a silent plea, and something within him snapped. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tommy!" George yelled, lunging over the table to grab a blood-stained cloth. He bunched it up before pressing it into Dream's arm. The man cried out sharply and George winced as black blood seeped into the fabric. Whirling back, he glared at the open window. "Tommy, I know you're out there!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A head of golden locks popped up from behind the wooden frame and George almost cried out at the sight of those blazing blue eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get Henry!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy gaped at him from the window, eyes blown wide in disbelief and horror. He shouldn't have to see this - George knew, and the guilt boiled low in his stomach as he watched Tommy swallow hard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The cow?" He shrieked and George nodded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He needs milk, run quick!" Tommy was gone in a blur of gold and red, and George turned back to Dream. A broken whisper of, "He doesn't have much time," barely left his lips before Dream was arching off of the table, groaning as a hand latched out to hold his arm down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We need to keep his heart rate down." Phil was beside him, fingers covered in minty green cream. His wings were pulled so tight against his back, George knew it had to hurt. "The effect is spreading with his heartbeat. George, please," Phil pleaded, his hand heavy on his shoulder. "He needs you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked down to meet a golden-green eye, staring wide-eyed back at him. Dream coughed wetly, face twisted in agony, and George found his place at the table, his side pressed close against Dream. His mask was skewed so far down his face it was almost dangerous, and he reached out instinctively to right the round plate. His fingers found their way into Dream's hair, brushing the golden brown locks out of his eyes. There was blood, and soot and prime knows what else dragged through his hair. George didn't care. Dream sighed shakily, pressing his face against George's fingers. Blindsided by the move, he couldn't stop the pang of pain blooming in his chest. He hated him. He hated Dream for what he did. But it was getting harder and harder to remember it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He caught Phil's gaze out of the corner of his eye, watching as the man relaxed. It was working - that much was clear. The tendrils of black creeping across his chest were thinning out, but it still wasn't enough. There was little time left. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George, I need to tell you-" Dream coughed wetly, and George watched in horror as fresh blood coated his tongue, spilling over onto his lips. "I-" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hushed him quickly, a hand coming up to cup his face. The bloody rags fell to the table in a sopping mess. Dream's head lolled to the side, pressing against his fingers. George sucked in a sharp breath as cold tears slipped over his palms. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're fine, okay? You're going to be fine." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream gave no sign that he heard him, and George held back a scream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door burst open and Tommy rushed in, a pail of milk clutched in white-knuckled hands. It was passed up to him and George wasted no time swinging it onto the table. Techno hoisted Dream up roughly and he grabbed hold of Dream's jaw, pouring the milk down his throat. When he had swallowed as much as he could, George set the bucket down beside him. Without a second's wait, he grabbed Dream's arm and dunked it into the remaining milk. Dream hissed and George winced as the man latched onto his hand, squeezing so hard his knuckles popped. The silence was thick around them, the crowd collectively holding their breath. Wilbur was gripping Tommy tight in his arms, pulling him away from the grisly sight. There was no resistance from the young boy. Sapnap, who George hadn't realized was there, held Dream's body up with Techno. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Had he been fast enough? Had the milk been enough? Droplets trailed down the sides of Dream's mouth, down the curve of his throat, and into the crevice of his collar bone. Dream met his eyes in a dazed, half-lucid state and opened his mouth. Then, he turned and retched, vomiting black sludge all over the floor. Sapnap exclaimed in disgust, hopping out of the way of the mess, but the yell blurred into static. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George's knees were weak with relief and he fell against the table heavily, a sigh slipping out of his heaving chest. He was going to be okay. The milk bucket beside them bubbled with black tar. The Wither effect was leaving his system, the poison drawn out by the properties of the milk. Dream would live. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"George-" He rasped, cheeks shiny with tears. Dream was a mess. Black sludge covered his skin like warped scars, and the sight made him stumble back into the crowd. Dream, barely held up by Techno, whimpered, a broken, fragile sound that didn't belong to him. "I- I need to tell you-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George turned on his heels and left the manor, feeling sick. Pushing past bodies, he ignored the heat pooling in his eyes as the fresh air splashed over his face. His hands were covered in sticky black, as was his nightshirt, half-unbuttoned and smeared with the thick, gummy poison. He couldn't take this. Low, agonized groans sounded out from within the house and he took off down the path in a rush, his heart racing in his ears. He couldn't listen to it anymore - he wouldn't be able to bear it. The forest blurred by until he was well away from the manor, the cold morning sinking into his exposed skin like steel. He doubted anyone would come looking for him. He had done his job, and the rest was for Phil to manage. Besides, George glanced down at his hands, which shook unbearably, he was in no state to help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fine droplets sprinkled down on the ground around him, courtesy of the billowing clouds gathering above. Hands tearing at his hair, George fought the sharp sting of his nose and the tears gathering in his eyes. Dream's broken voice echoed through the empty village, the calloused skin of his hands still heavy against his own hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers brushed against something soft and he frowned as a blue cornflower bud fell to the ground. The small, wrinkled flower lay on the path, meeting his numb stare. Little flecks of petals waved at him, stark against the worn dirt. A gentle melody filtered in from far across the forest, brought in by the soft hum of the Spring wind. Now what? The thought hung heavy in his head, bringing forth a wave of futures he didn't want to face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand settled on his shoulder and he turned sharply, his fists springing up from his sides. A flash of pink stopped him in his tracks. Technoblade stared back at him calmly, his eyes burning with a stifling scarlet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Techno." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His cape was gone from his shoulders, left somewhere in the manor. Hair matted and streaked with ash, the stray strands of braided locks were secured hurriedly. Thin scratches marred his arms and face, cleaving past thick white scars left from years past. Remnants from the recent expedition to the Nether. The scratches would heal, he knew. The memories would not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you," Techno spoke firmly, and George took a real look at him. "I know this was difficult for you, but-" He paused, heaving a shuddering breath, and George met his gaze carefully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Beyond his worn appearance and the black blood smeared over his skin and clothes, crimson eyes stared into his with the most earnest look he had ever seen, and for a second, he's not the leader of a rebellion or a fearsome soldier or even a half-blood. He's Techno.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're one of us now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno's gaze met his in a fiery collision, and for the first time, George didn't shrink away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Welcome to the Rebels, George." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! I have made my return :) </p>
<p>A massive thank you to everyone who wished me good luck on exams! And as well as for being so patient and kind, I appreciate it a lot!</p>
<p>THIS was a fun chapter to write bahaha but at the same time, I don't think I'll ever quite be satisfied with how it came out. It underwent so many rewrites that at this point I'm just hoping it makes sense. But alas, yes, I couldn't resist some good old hurt and angst and overall pain. We are ever so slowly approaching the end of the second(?) arc of this story (for those curious, the first arc was pretty much just the first two or three chapters where George is in the prison bahaha). There are three arcs that I've planned for this story btw :) </p>
<p>I also do want to include a bit more of the other characters in upcoming chapters because of how much it's been George/Dream centered (which ofc it is lmfao but I really do enjoy writing the other members of the SMP so yeah). </p>
<p>And a bit of clarification for what Techno said at the end in case there is confusion - George was always a part of the rebels (since he made that deal with Techno upon their first meeting), but this is Techno's way of officially recognizing him as one of their ranks, which to George (who has always felt like somewhat of an outsider) is a big deal. </p>
<p>Thanks for reading! The next chapter should be up sometime around the same time next week :)<br/>Kudos and comments are appreciated! (and as a note, I will try to respond to all comments I receive, but there's no pressure to reply back &lt;3)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for giving this a read! &lt;3<br/>I'm super psyched about this story so far, I've got tons of ideas for where this is headed. </p><p>George's backstory was somewhat inspired by Sarah J. Maas' "Throne of Glass", which was kinda what spurred this whole medieval/fantasy AU.  </p><p>Just as a general notice, when writing, I use Dream and George's (or any of the other CCs in this fic) character/roleplay personas, so all of this work is based on fiction and the descriptions + personalities of those characters are based on their roleplay personas, not the actual CCs.<br/>However, if any CC states they are uncomfortable with works like this then I'll immediately make edits or take it down. </p><p>I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I'll be updating once a week usually on Saturdays/Sundays </p><p>Any comments, reviews, &amp; feedback are welcome :))</p></blockquote></div></div>
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